Reverse
by Lanna Jne
Summary: I take Max and Logan's characters and reverse them from the beginning. Logan's Manticore, Max's normal. After nearly two years, chapter nine is finally up!
1. Know and Escape

Disclaimer: I unfortunately do NOT own Dark Angel __

Disclaimer: I unfortunately do NOT own Dark Angel. If I did, then the re-runs would be shown IN ORDER over the summer for those who didn't see them all. (That would not include me, by the way. ^_^) 

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Author's Note: This is the new update of the first chapter. I went in, fixed the things that I REALLY didn't like, and now I'm re-posting it. It's been two weeks since I originally posted, and I've gotten 12 reviews. THANK YOU to all that reviewed! I'll mention you guys by name in the beginning of the next chapter. Thank you again! Those who left emails with their post will get emailed when I update next. Enjoy! 

-Lanna 

PS- By the way, my computer hates me. If this has a HUGE white blank spot at the bottom, and I don't see it before you do, PLEASE tell me. Also, how do you, those members of FFN, get it to be edited so nice and pretty? It hates me, I swear! Please enlighten a fellow member. I'm so confused! -_-; 

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June 2009

Gillette, Wyoming 

They would always be on the run. 

It was inescapable. It was a fact of their genetically tampered-with lives. The X-5 series would never be able to rest as long as they lived. Even after Lydecker was eliminated, foreign governments would still be after them, to steal their secret genetic code. This fact was ingrained into them from the start, along with all the other training. It was to keep them from attempting to escape. 

Even as they realized all of those facts, they knew that another one had been brought to life. No more under-water chains, any more tests, any more anything, except freedom. They would escape. 

Tonight. 

*** 

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Seattle, Washington

Mercedes sighed from another long night of research on her computer. The terrorists were escaping her, and it was driving her nuts. Not only did they plan to infiltrate the government, but they also were going to bomb the entire nation with something that would wipe out all of the computer systems in the US. _How lovely_, she thought sarcastically. Rubbing her eyes tiredly and sitting back, she glanced around her opulent penthouse before heaving herself up from her computer chair and gliding into the kitchen to prepare her a quick sandwich. 

Everything was perfectly normal for a day in the life of Civilian Detective Guevara while researching another case for the good of humanity in what was considered one of the richest countries in the world. The United States had a booming economy; they were in peacetime... 

...And they had illegal operations that, if listed, could have gone from Maine to Hawaii and back six times. Now, finding all of those crimes and exposing them were proving difficult. To top that, terrorists were going to bomb the entire country. 

Life couldn't get any better. 

Just then the phone rang. She puzzled at who would be calling at the ungoddessly hour of two in the morning (it dimly registered in the back of Mercedes' mind that she had been up four days without sleep because of this case, so it didn't really matter what time it was). She picked up the phone. Effecting a tone that suggested she had been in her bed at the time, she answered. 

"Whoever you are, this better be good. I was just in the middle of the best dream all year, starring the delicious Tom Cruise himself, a bowl of whipped cream, and a box of strawberries." 

"Are you sure it wasn't me you were dreaming about?" the voice at the other end teased. She immediately knew it was her greatest source and ally, Kevin Jhanda. He had also been her only lover. 

"Mmm... Maybe," she teased, a silly grin on her face. Distractions at this time of night were helpful in some ways. 

"I always knew you couldn't forget me, hon." His voice let her know that he was grinning as well. "However, Ms. Fantasyland," he sighed. "This couldn't wait." It had to be important for him to interrupt their teasing at this time of night, because he dealt only in illegal government covert ops, so she immediately dropped the vocal façade, albeit reluctantly. 

"What is it Kevin?" Mercedes was all business, grabbing her sandwich and heading back to her computer room. Such teasing would have to wait 'til later. 

"Remember that military facility back in Gillette, Wyoming?" 

"Gotcha." She pulled up the file of all information he had given her three years ago, which wasn't much. "Top-secret; something called 'Manticore'? Run by a Donald Lydecker, ex-GI. Joe. Security tighter than an oyster shell." 

"Precisely." Kevin forced himself to forget the past as he continued on in his explanation. "But get this: there was a security breach last night, south quadrant, sector 47." 

"Breach? You're kidding me." At his negative response, she grinned, ignoring the slight hesitation in his voice. She pulled up the map of the place as she fired off her next question. "Internal or external?" 

"Internal." His voice was grim, but he was also hyped. Mercedes knew he always loved bringing down a corrupt government facility, therefore taking down the government's wrongdoing. It had to be in his blood - his dad had been the same way. "There were fifteen escapees in all, but thirty initially attempted." 

"What the hell had to be so horrible that the workers had to run for the literal hills?" She was typing furiously, updating all information banks - pictures, text, everything as he sent them through their barely illegal network. 

"Not workers, Merche." She had no clue as to what was coming, because the only time he used her nickname was when he tried breaking the news gently to her. 

She wasn't patient enough for his response, though, so she filled up his silence with her own fear. "Kids. It was kids, wasn't it? Dammit, I knew it! How could they do som - " 

"It wasn't kids, Merche," came his gentle reply. 

That made her pause for a second, only to reply, "It wasn't?" 

"No," he denied. "It was projects." 

That was such a fast ball that she stopped everything for a second until it sunk in. "Projects? You sure it wasn't kids?" 

He sighed. "It was kids." Before she could get a word in, he hastily added, "Genetically enhanced kids, hon, but projects all the same." 

As Kevin gave her the run-down on the entirely illegal operation, she momentarily forgot about the terrorists and the electronic pulse that was no doubt going to happen. Kids? Forced to endure what? It was astonishingly horrifying, and after Kevin bid her goodnight, albeit sarcastically, she sat there for a few minutes, staring at the suddenly elongated information document on 'Project Manticore.' 

Yanking off her headset, she got up and started to pace, leaving her untouched sandwich by the computer. She needed the blood flowing to get her brain cells working before she could sit down to her impossibly long task of hacking into Manticore's mainframe. However, when she passed the couch, she deemed that she'd get her blood flowing faster if she were sitting down and thinking comfortably. It was an entirely sleep-deprived decision, and as she started thinking about Manticore, the four days and more without sleep caught up with her, and she gave up. Manticore would be there in the morning. Tom Cruise going commando while bringing his own whipped cream and strawberries wouldn't. 

Mercedes' daughter, Max, had watched and heard the entire conversation. She wanted to know what exactly was getting her mother all in a tizzy, so she crept out from behind the silky, luscious plant in the living room and towards the computer. She signed on, knowing all of the passwords to her mom's files. She started to hack into Kevin's computer, but was blocked with firewall after firewall. Frustrated, she sighed shortly and flexed her fingers. If she couldn't get into Kevin's system, she'd never be able to break into Manticore's. 

She went back to work. She had to hurry, though, because daybreak was imminent. Her mom would wake up soon, and she had no plan to avert an angry, sleepy mother. She only dealt in computers. After all, she had learned from the government's most trusted hacker. 

Mercedes. 

*** 

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Wyoming 

They ran all night and day on adrenaline and fear only, keeping to the trees' cold shadows and finally reaching the state border under cover of darkness. Their conditioning hadn't gotten up to this level, so they had to stop there when that same adrenaline ran out, even though it was risky. Some, who never slept much anyway, kept watch while the others caught up on their sleep, restoring their energy for their respective flights away from everything they'd ever known. They would be splitting up as soon as the false dawn appeared, effectively distancing themselves forever from the wilds of Wyoming. 

One of the older Chimeras, known to the others as Logan, sat up against a tree. He needed the sleep, his 12-year-old brain reasoned with him, but he couldn't submit to it. His mind was filled with the images of the escape - his fellow brothers and sisters and cousins, as he thought of them, shot in the back of the head by snipers with tazers, darts, and the regular bullets as they took to the trees. Those images of the ones who gave their lives, so those that did escape, could do so. Ones like Hector... 

Roughly he shoved those thoughts to the back of his consciousness. He couldn't deal with all of this so quickly, no matter how trained he was to deal with his mind, to force it to forget something. And he didn't need to cause a seizure by attempting such a thing. His siblings counted upon him to present a strong façade in order to calm their own beating hearts. They had just separated from everything they knew, everyone they knew, and it was a terrifying experience. They needed someone to be strong. He would have to deal with his own pain later, when he could afford to. Not now. 

Kelly, Logan's favourite surrogate sister, watched him pseudo-sleep from her guard post. She knew their supposedly fearless leader better than anyone else, and could tell he was warring with himself over what had just happened. She needed his strength to keep her from falling to pieces, to keep the sights and smells of freshly spilt blood of their family in the humid air; the sounds of repeated gunshots... She cursed her inability to sleep normally due to her shark DNA, and shook her head to forget in order to clear those memories. _Logan will only be effective with the proper amount of sleep that his body needs_, the soldier inside her muttered. So, as discreetly as only an X-5 could, she moved over to sit beside him, still keeping her watch. Hopefully all would be right in the end, and the deaths of their comrades would be avenged. 

*** 

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Seattle, Washington 

The Pulse, the American people soon referred to it as, happened at midnight on December 25th, exactly six months after the escape from Manticore. Max knew precisely when it happened, having stayed up late yet again to watch her mother working late on the same terrorist project behind that potted plant as before. The power blew suddenly, and her mother's computer died instantly. When Mercedes finally got it booted up again, all of her files had been dumped. Even her diskettes had been erased. She was enraged that all of her petitions to the government to look into the matter had been sent back without even being opened, "...and now look where it bloody well got us!" 

"Mom? Why'd the power go out?" Max wasn't young enough to suck her thumb, but she did strike a deceptively innocent pose against the doorframe, holding her teddy bear in one hand. She was incredibly light on her feet for her age. _Normally_, she thought to herself. Those Manticore kids were much faster than she was. 

Mercedes whirled to find her daughter standing there, gazing at her with eyes that held way too much intelligence for the age of eight. "Honey..." She struggled for the words, but amazingly enough the child helped her out with the explanation. 

"The terrorists struck, didn't they?" 

She blinked, and answered the only way she knew how. Honestly. 

"Yes. Yes, they did." 

"What's the government gonna do about it?" 

Mercedes grimaced. "Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing." She paused, then slapped her forehead. "I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't be using such words around you," she frowned, contrite. 

Her daughter peered up at her with her large, velvety-brown eyes. "It's okay, Mommy. I understand why you use them." Mercedes smiled thanks to her daughter, who continued with a worried look on her face. "They knew it was coming though, didn't they? You sent them explanations, right? But..." Her eyes widened fractionally. "So that's what was in those brown envelopes. They refused them." 

Mercedes knew enough to not be surprised by her daughter's knowledge. She knew too much about computers to NOT find out sooner or later. _That's what happens when your only parent's a governmentally funded hacker_, she thought regretfully. "Pretty much. Really it just got ignored by the new secretaries, who probably didn't realize who I was." If she were a cat she would have growled. "And now the entire country is royally screwed over. They probably won't become unscrewed over for awhile, either." She flashed her daughter a tired grin. "But hey, that's corporate America for ya. The NYSE goes down a couple of points and they quickly boost it up again, panicked, but when a real problem rears its ugly head, there goes federal support." 

"And now your job, right?" Max wasn't foolish enough to believe otherwise. Hopefully something would come about to keep their financial position the same as it was before. Being kicked out of their penthouse wouldn't be the best thing in the world to happen. 

"Yep. But hey, let's get to bed. There's nothing else I can do tonight, and tomorrow's going to be along day for both of us, what with the reprogramming of the computers needing to be done." Her eyes shone at her daughter. 

Max's eyes brightened, and she dared to grin a little bit. "You mean... I get to help you?" 

"Of course!" Mercedes laughed. "You even get to help me set up the security system program." 

"All right!" She launched herself into her mother's arms, joyous at the thought of getting to help with the firewalls, and they both went off to bed. Not before a parting comment from mother to daughter, however. 

"Just consider it your birthday present for next year." 

"Dangit!"


	2. Mission Plan Formatted

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Disclaimer: Dark Angel belongs to its respective creators/owners. Not me.

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Author's Note: I am SO incredibly sorry for posting this practically a MONTH after the first chapter! I've been a REALLY bad girl… -_-; However, this one's roughly three pages longer than the first, as well, so hopefully this makes up for it. It doesn't have the quality of my usual, regularly edited works, so if you find ANYTHING out of order, anything that you'd personally change, I'll see if it a) was intentional or b) needs to be changed. ^_^

Thanks goes out to, first and foremost, my lovely beta-reader, Sancho, who also writes Dark Angel fanfic (and which I suggest you check out and leave a wonderful review ^_~), and he's also conveniently located on FFN, as well. Do an author search. ^__^

Also, to my WONDERFUL reviewers! Your suggestions, followed-up emails, and most importantly GREAT ideas all combined to give me my Ultimate Plot Twist™ that was starting to be employed in this, Chapter Two. Oh, and BTW, this chapter's mostly in the POV of Logan. Enjoy! This chapter is dedicated to all who reviewed Chapter One! ^_____^ You guys rock!

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Chapter Two

Portland, Oregon

The escaped X-5s found out about the Pulse differently, because they weren't all located in the big cities. Some ended up in orphanages, while others ended up in foster homes. A few of them decided they'd chance it out in the open, in the streets with the other homeless, and even less weren't even in the country, having escaped to Canada or Mexico.

Logan was one of what he considered being the unlucky ones: he ended up in an orphanage. Granted, it was one of the cleaner ones, but it still reminded him of Manticore. They were all up earlier than necessary and allowed only a meager amount of hours to sleep, they had grueling chores, they ate food not fit for rats, and they were forced outside once a day despite the weather. To him, the amount of sleep and condition of the food were the drawbacks from being free. Yes, he was out of Manticore, but… it just wasn't what he expected. It was as of yet too easy to shift back to memories, those haunted, hated memories of his creation place as he walked the halls and corridors of where he resided now.

He discovered the Pulse and its effects the day after it hit, when his chore of sifting through the new parent applications on-line didn't work. The computer didn't work, actually. Neither did the electricity, heating, or water, since they were all run by computer electronics. 

"So, um, what do you want me to do now, ma'am?" he asked in his forced little kid voice.

The owner and operator of Portland Orphanage was a pretty redhead who had quite unpredictable mood swings when stressed passed her very minute limits. Sometimes they caused her to make her kids do menial tasks that weren't fit for little kids to do. This was one of those times. She had started yelling at any of the kids who'd gotten underfoot that morning, a clear sign for the rest to stay out of the way. When he approached with what could be mistaken as an offer to do anything, she immediately read it as thus and growled at him, having found her next 'willing' victim.

"Logan, get the kids outside and start chopping wood. I knew we'd need that wood this winter – why didn't I follow my instincts?" she moaned, throwing her hands up in the air helplessly. "It's all your fault!" She glared at him, her accusation of course false, being derived from her mental chemical imbalance. She paused for a moment, then tilted her head in a pondering fashion before smiling oily at him. "On second thought," she almost purred, "YOU go out there by yourself and chop enough wood to heat the entire building for the rest of the week!" _See THAT be interesting, rascal!_

Whenever she'd assigned him something to do that would have stirred the 'curiosity' – more like fear of getting a beating - of a normal kid his age for a few hours, he just said nothing and did it resignedly. And then he asked if there was anything else that he could do, to 'please' the madam. _Well! Chopping that much wood should make him be a bit more involved with what he was doing!_ she thought smugly. He was too agreeable.

In fact, she was so smug that she missed the rolling of eyes coming from Logan's direction. _That has the same amount of mental and physical stimulation in it as reading a romance novel,_ he thought to himself contemptuously as he walked outside to the woods with the axe. He knew, however, that he had to start toning down what others could call eagerness a little bit, so that he wouldn't be suspected too much. So he began chopping wood while reviewing military intelligence equations and torture tactics in his head. He figured that he would need the ability to determine such things once he got out in the world and met his siblings again, especially if they were to take Manticore down once and for all.

That was his mission to accomplish in the future, and he assumed that was what was on his brothers' and sisters' minds, as well. He would take point in the operation that would destroy their 'birth place.' Kelly would be right behind him, with Bryhan and the others waiting for the signal to attack. If he'd been an expressive person he would have grinned at the following thought. They had escaped the life of a soldier, but ironically they'd become one anyway to accomplish their duty to those that were unable to fight by their side ever again.

Pointless tasks that the 'headmistress' assigned him gave him time to continue his exercises that he'd gotten in Wyoming. He always finished his responsibilities to the orphanage early, which allowed him to do some of his more physical lessons, though this new one, chopping wood, might help him keep his back and arms in shape, he speculated. He went for an all-out run around the property for thirty minutes before heading towards his secret place. He'd found it one day while on his self-imposed break. It had everything that he'd need to practice his obstacles; a few pines here and there, a stream, a few boulders in the vicinity… All it needed was a sparring partner and it'd be just like the outdoor training areas back in Wyoming.

He slipped into his fighting stance and went through all of the motions he'd learned at Manticore three times in a row. Each time he practiced, he'd change the pattern of his moves, keeping both his logical reasoning and ability to use the moves differently from the textbook sharp. He only did this away from prying eyes. Only the woodland creatures frequented the area. He'd left no path showing he'd been there, taking a different route each time.

By the time he finished stacking the wood and got back into the house, night had fallen and everyone was preparing for supper. The mistress had expected to have to go and get him, but he was already there, perfectly fine and finished with his task. At least, he didn't look as if he hadn't done anything. He was sweating just the right amount for a kid who'd chopped wood like a machine all day.

Mood swings reigned as guilt raised its ugly head in her eyes when she looked down at the kid who had done so much by himself in the short time he'd been here. She shouldn't have made him do that, she thought in retrospect. It was a little too late now, though. It was done. 

So instead, she looked upon him in kindness, smiling as she said, "Thank you, Logan. No one else here could have done what you did without several days' worth of chopping, along with help from others. I'm sorry for making you do that by yourself. If it's any consolation, you may have extra helpings of supper tonight…"

Logan mentally sighed, but his outward appearance showed nothing. He knew that she was attempting to be nice to him, but he still didn't know how to deal with it just yet. He shrugged and responded in what he hoped would be the appropriate thing to say: "Whatever."

The redhead just laughed, having expected that reaction. She shook her head, grinning. "Okay then. It's off to supper! Your customary large glass of milk, Logan?"

He nodded and followed her into the dining hall, already filled with the other kids in the orphanage. He filled his bowl with soup to the rim, his ability to balance anything coming to the fore as he went back to his seat, not spilling a drop. He did it unconsciously, not noticing the awe-filled stares from the other kids as he sat down at his customary place at the table. He was lost in thought, remembering the times he and his siblings played games, like when they filled their bowls with their tasteless soup-like mush, packed with nutrients that "did a body good," and raced back to their seats. The one who spilled the least got out of clean-up duty.

The memories that followed the innocent one of his food hit him like a ton of bricks that fell off an unseen cliff. It came suddenly, and without warning: they had hit him so hard, in fact, that he didn't even realize he'd collapsed in a heap in the middle of the orphanage's supper time, face in his perfectly-dished soup, seizing violently. He didn't hear the cries of the mistress for someone to get a doctor, nor the hands that latched onto him minutes later, lifting him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The only thing that he could utter before he was lost to his memories was, "Tryptophan…"

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FLASH! Getting caught on camera, quickly followed by Lydecker stopping them in the halls. Fear of discovery, masked by determination. Remembering his responsibility towards his friends, his siblings, as one gets tazed in from of them and shot with a sedative dart. Deadly determination.

FLASH! _RUN! Launched out of a window, going point, leading them to safety. Rain pelts painfully from above, the night sky illuminated by lightning as he dove for cover in the trees. Sounds of others joining him, hiding from their pursuants. Branches smacking him, getting one in the gut. No sound of pain, just pushing on._

FLASH! Marea shot down from behind. FLASH! Faedra getting tazed by several before finally collapsing in a boneless heap. FLASH! The fresh scent of blood filling his nostrils, combining with the newly torn pine and exhaust from ATVs. 

FLASH! Gunshots. Hector falling in front of him at the Wyoming state border. Blood on someone's hands – my hands. Cold realization: Hector's dead. 

FLASH! Running, always running…

When Logan awoke from his tryptophan-lacking seizure of the brain, he found himself in what he'd been taught to recognize as a standard-issue hospital bed. That's what it felt like. He kept his eyes closed as he used his other senses to determine if there were any immediate threats and if there was any way to escape further identifying tests they might be able to run.

What he did sense was another person in the room to his far left. He could hear the heartbeat, smell something akin to perfume. From the fainter sounds beyond the assumed female in the room, he could tell the as-of-now enemy was located next to his only route of convenient escape. He could also hear that there was traffic coming from towards his feet. There, he assumed, was the window.

His Manticore training, having gripped him ever since he had escaped, did not dare to lessen. With haste, he reviewed any and all ways to get around the enemy and out of the hospital unnoticed. He took into account the unknown floor plan, the enemy's probably defense tactics – and whether or not she was Manticore; the standard number of armed guards (which he figured would be increased or doubled because of his presence); how high his room was located; and last but definitely not least his physical capability. He'd just come out of a seizure, which left him shaky and vulnerable, as well as hooked up to an IV while it dripped tryptophan into his veins. 

He couldn't do anything effectively to aid in plan A.

This meant he would revert to Manticore standard plan B. So, he would wait, silently and supposedly compliant, unless further help or information arrived, or plan A could be successfully carried out.

Having decided thus, he opened his eyes.

His assumed female enemy guard, waiting by the door, was in reality the mistress from the orphanage - Maybel Finnigan. He still knew that she was a possible threat, but he was reassured anyway. She posed absolutely no physical harm to him, as she wasn't packing. The only thing he had to worry about was who'd she'd alerted to his presence.

"I'm glad you're up," she smiled, getting up. She positioned the chair so that she sat right next to him. Brushing his damp, limpid hair off of his forehead, Maybel continued innocently, "We were worried that maybe, what you said last about tryptophan, was all a hoax; a random word made out of similarly random sounds. Dr. Janson and I have had quite a time with it. Do you know you were out for almost a complete day?"

She continued to ramble on in the usual people who are reacting to severe relief, as Logan was also taught to recognize. She was completely ignored as soon as she said the word _doctor_. He had to talk to the physician who'd treated him, and quickly. 

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Screw Manticore standard B, he thought in a fit of rebellion. _I'm not there anymore; why am I still following the rules?_ Ignoring whatever protests the redhead or his body made, he sat up, noticing he was on the third story. _High-impact landing, but small possibility of the injuries being serious._ It would be his last resort. 

He turned to the other in the room. He was still shaky - they weren't allowing enough liquid tryptophan through the IV at once, which showed that they didn't know too much about him - but he was able to summon up enough energy to ask with military precision; "Where's the doctor?" It was more of a command to tell now or forever hold your peace than a question.

The mood swings in full upheaval again, she timidly answered him. "Dr. Janson just went on break, and I was told that if you needed any assistance I - I was to call in a nurse." 

"How long has he been on break?" he snapped. Calculations flew through his head at nigh the speed of light.

"Erm... About five minutes ago?" She fearfully looked up to meet his eyes, hoping that it was okay to have said that much.

Logan barely nodded, unconsciously answering her unspoken question, before devoting every brain cell and neuron to figuring out what he needed to do. This caused the bag hooked up to the IV to deplete rapidly, much to the horror of Maybel. He was feeling better much more quickly, and took the irritating IV needle out of his arm. Pacing the garishly white room, he pondered. He couldn't get a nurse. He had to talk to the doctor, right away, before certain transactions could take place. 

"You want me to lie down, right?" She nodded, eager. "I won't do it unless the doctor is here, in this room, in the next two minutes." Logan knew that if Dr. Janson didn't appear in that frame of time, then he'd be on the phone with Manticore, giving them all the information that he now had on his newly acquired patient. And if that went through, _I'll be screwed._

She tried to protest... "But, Logan, dear, these things take ti - " ...to no avail.

"Get. Him," he ground out through clenched teeth, his manner that of a coiled snake ready to spring. 

This convinced the woman more than anything that she needed to work swiftly. However, getting the doctor there in time posed a temporary problem. Doctor Janson could be anywhere in the hospital. She then remembered that a nurse could easily page said doctor over the intercom, from when ER was run again on the new Oldies TV channel. She also knew that just telling the nurse Logan needed to talk to the doctor wouldn't get the professional to come to the room within the time limits that Logan had allowed. She would have to tell a little white lie to get the results desired. Suddenly pious, she prayed, _Please forgive me, O Lord, for I shall soon sin._

After her millisecond prayer, she made him wait there while she sprinted towards the nurses' station. "There's an emergency in room 628! Help! Someone, please get Dr. Janson right away!"

There was a flurry of action after that. A nurse ran down the hall to Logan's room while another set aside her paperwork and quickly sent the message echoing down every passageway and through each room in the building:

"Dr. Janson, room 628 has a problem. Dr. Janson, room 628 has a problem. Please report immediately."

Logan nodded to himself when he heard it, just before the first nurse burst into the room. He immediately leaped off the hospital bed, knocking the nurse out with a well-placed chop to the sensitive nerves in her neck. Landing, he drug her over to a corner hidden by the bed, leaving her there to recuperate. He searched her for anything that might prove useful later. The only thing he found was a dart gun loaded with tranquilizers. She didn't even have a scalpel.

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Damn. Well, beggars can't be choosers, he quipped mentally, using a phrase he'd heard one of the kids from the orphanage say. He quickly inspected the rest of the too-clean room for any extra tryptophan. Unfortunately, there was only what was left in the IV bag. He kept it in mind as he laid back down on the bed. It'd been a minute and a half; the doctor had thirty more seconds to get there. But there was a bad feeling digging at the back of his skull… He made himself comfortable as Maybel came back in the room. Time could only tell.

"Dr. Janson, room 628 has a problem. Dr. Janson, room 628 has a problem. Please report immediately."

The same man mentioned above hesitated in his speech when he heard that, then continued on carefully to the voice on the other end; "Ah - Logan's here, yes… Yes, Colonel Lydecker, he's not been harmed in any way… Yes, we gave him tryptophan… He seems to be having another attack; they just - " He was interrupted harshly, and it was all he could do to not slam the phone down in its cradle and rush to room 628. Both his medical training and his ethics were urging him to do obey his instincts, because there was someone out there in pain, and he was more than qualified to help. _If only this damn man would stop barking instructions into my ear!_ He was reminded yet again as to why he hated the military types.

The voice went blessedly silent - he could now understand why this mere child had wanted to run away from his father. He carefully picked up that precious silence and said, "Of course we'll keep an armed guard posted, though I don't see why - "

The colonel roared so loudly that Doctor Janson had to hold the phone away form his ear. "WHY? I'll tell you why! One of that kid's cells alone is worth more than it takes to run your tiny hospital for a month! He can take out all of your Rent-A-Cops without breaking a sweat! He is HIGHLY DANGEROUS - _do you understand me?!_"

Replacing the phone closer to his ear, Janson replied, "Yes, sir, I fully understand now." He rolled his eyes at the lies this man created just to get his son back. "I'll place all of our guards around his room. Is there anything else?" he asked blandly. Glancing at his watch - it'd been three minutes since the intercom had beckoned him to room 628 - he thought, _Hopefully the nurses have it under control by now…_ He could only hope that, as the phone went dead, the kid could survive going back home. He briefly thought about calling social services before shaking his head. Since the Pulse, there hadn't been enough financial support for the facilities to stay open. There was nothing to do but be on-call as the boy was brought in time after time for probable beatings. 

Checking his appearance in the floor-length mirror on his door, he took one last look at the picture of his wife and daughter setting on his desk before heading out to place the guards. It would be a long night.

__

Two enemy at the door, one below the window, and two people to get out safely. He wasn't about to leave Ms. Finnigan by herself to face Lydecker. _More enemy on the way_ - he could hear them - _coming from about three miles eastbound. Approximate time until arrival: four minutes. Personal optimal speed possible with two people on foot: eight miles an hour._ Hopefully Maybel was in the best condition possible, or he'd have to dump her in the nearest town. Unless he could hot-wire a car with a full gas tank. The odds were slim, but he loved games of chance.

"Maybel." The woman turned toward him curiously. "When I say go, we're going to jump out the window and run for our lives." At her stunned look, he growled, "I'll break the fall. Now get over here." Logan had to drag her over to the window. He looked down, saw the guard about thirty yards away helping a lost driver, and got up on the ledge, lifting the headmistress in his arms, covering her mouth with a hand.

He launched himself through the glass without warning and hit the ground with a melodramatic _THUD_. The sound of breaking glass, however, was what caught the cop's attention, and he came sprinting towards them. Maybel had finally stopped screaming when she realized what was happening, and she took off after the kid's fast-disappearing silhouette.

When the Manticore soldiers arrived, they didn't find any trace of X-5366 in the building, only terrified patients, nurses, and doctors. Lydecker knew that his young CO had escaped through the broken window when he reached Logan's previous room, but had ordered the building searched anyway. Muttering to himself, he barked into his walkie-talkie. "Move out! I want the entire premises and surrounding buildings searched! NOW!"

The now-fugitives bolted for roughly twelve blocks before Logan noticed that the woman had stopped a ways behind him, gasping for air. Too late did he remember that even though he was just thirteen, he was equipped with longer endurance, more leg strength, and a greater lung capacity. Jogging back towards her, he guided her into an alleyway.

"Wait here. I'll be back." He dashed off, leaving his fellow escapee shivering in the cold December wind with no protection other than the thin clothes she had on. 

Maybel had no idea what he was going to do. All she could concentrate on was getting her breath back and keeping her feet and hands from turning into small blocks of ice. Soon, however, she did get her breath back, and while her fingers and toes would probably never be the same, she knew that at least she wouldn't suffer from asphyxiation. 

In about fifteen minutes, she was comforted by the sight of headlights coming right towards her. Being saved by anyone was better than freezing to death, she rationalized. She didn't even know why she was in the middle of a frozen alleyway the day after Christmas. Getting up, she headed towards the passenger side of the vehicle, warmed by the heater running in the truck. No sooner was she sitting on the seat did the truck wildly swing backwards out of the alleyway, then lurch forward through the streets. It swerved on patches of ice here and there, but soon enough they were on the old interstate heading towards California.

She didn't get a good look at the driver, but she knew instinctively that it was Logan. She waited until they had crossed the state line before attempting to ask any questions.

"Logan?"

A grunt in response.

"Um… Logan, why are we running away from the hospital? How did you land after jumping out of a three-story window and just get up to run half a mile without breaking a sweat? What caused that seizure?" Frustrated, she spat, "Who _are_ you?"

There was a brief pause, lasting only about three seconds as he pondered the consequences of telling the truth, before his clipped reply split the silence between them. "There were men coming after us. I have a special skeletal structure and healing ability that allows me to do such things. I suffer from a lack of a certain chemical in the brain that is made only by tryptophan." He paused again, then plunged on ahead, baring his genetically-made soul to his traveling companion. "I am a genetically-engineered soldier, made by doctors splicing genes from random animals and humans, put together in a mixture guaranteed to make me what you would call Super Man."

Stunned for the second time that day, she sat in silence for the rest of the trip, standing as a shadow as they deposited the car once they ran out of gas and as they acquired a new car during each duration. It soon became routine for them, running in every direction plausible.

Logan never said much, but he was always considerate towards her, handling their basic needs without complaint. He periodically wondered where his siblings were, never sharing the escape's events with Maybel. He never took time away from their flight, however, to go look for them. He was obsessed with keeping farther away from Manticore more than anything. His siblings, his comrades, and his friends would have to wait; the mission had to be accomplished first.


	3. Contact Has Been Made

_Chapter Three_

_Seattle, Washington_

_Guevara penthouse, roughly midnight_

_Clickety-clack.  Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Clack-clack-clackety-clack-cla -- brring!_

"Hello?  Yes, this is she, how may I help you?  ...Of course, the Manticore organization.  ...Yes, I've heard of it.  ...Of course I'm interested.  A fortnight?  Sure, sure...  ...Yes, sure, of course that can be arranged.  ...All right.  See you then."  

_Click._

A puzzled frown swept across Mercedes's face for an instant before it was split in two with a very mischievous and calculating grin.  Of course she could be ready in a fortnight.  It wasn't as if she was that unprepared.

_This, I think, shall prove to be a very interesting meeting._

_***_

Exactly two weeks later, everything was in place.  Mercedes looked around in satisfaction before setting the computer on standby.  The original anticipation she'd felt was still with her.

She appeared like she was going to burst with a combination of nervousness, tenseness, and giddiness just before there was a knock on the door.  Jumping out of her seat, she straightened the abruptly upset table before taking a deep breath.  She strode over to the door and smoothed her silk business outfit.  Glancing through the peephole, she twisted the handle.

There in the hallway stood a man; one she'd never seen before.  She didn't treat him like a stranger, though, and he was shortly ushered into the entrance hall.  The quiet was almost deafening as she led him into the living room.  After they sat down, each seemed at a loss as to what to say for a bit.

The stranger broke the silence first.  "You would be Mercedes Guevara?"

She nodded with a small, business-like look on her face.  "And since you know who I am, I shall presume that you would be none other than Cale?"

There was a sharp nod from her guest before he spoke once more.  "Ms. Guevara - "

"Please, call me Mercedes," she interjected suddenly with a winning smile.

HeeHeHe gave her a look of reproach, making her falter for a second before he continued.  "I will continue calling you Ms. Guevara, Ms. Guevara."

_Damn,_ Mercedes thought with a mentally rueful grin.  _He's even worse than I expected!_  She gestured towards him, as if to motion him to continue.

With a brief nod, he slipped into a very commanding air.  "I expect my case to be handled with the utmost secrecy.  No one shall help you with this matter unless I specify their ability to do so.   I cannot allow petty things to get in the way of the answers.  Therefore, I expect you to work 24/7 on this case, and _only_ this case.  

"If you feel as if you cannot fulfill these requirements, tell me now and I shall find someone else."  He assumed an aura of arrogance as he awaited her answer, which was not long in coming.

Mercedes just looked at him.  There was no way in hell that he was going to intimidate her by his actions, and she let him know it.

"I accept your challenge, Mr. _Logan_ Cale, and rest assured; you will not be disappointed in my results.  However" - _I'll beat you by your own game sucker! -_ "I have some requests of my own."

The use of a name he hadn't even given her was startling, but not unexpected.  A mention of personal requests perked his unseen interest.

"I'll get you your information, if you don't treat me like you could do better.  If you _could_ do better, you wouldn't have hired me."  She shot him a look that said _Bwa!  I've got you here!_, only in a sophisticated manner.  "By hiring me, you've acknowledged that you people aren't the greatest out there, and some of us on the outside actually know what we're doing.  Remember that, and I'll continue with our meeting."

A raised eyebrow, a slight questioning look before it was all wiped clean as a slate.  The man in front of her nodded almost imperceptibly.  "You got it."

Mercedes's face broke out in an unrestrained, delighted grin, and she fought the urge to clap her hands.  "Perfect!  Now, let's get started..."

An hour and a half later, Mercedes had gotten what she deemed "the basics."  There was still a lot of information to know about this particular case, having been presented with less-than-Spartan details beforehand.  It wasn't peculiar, however.  She was used to getting thrust upon many cases with no information at all, and still reaping the best benefits.

"That's it" - Logan almost visibly relaxed - "for now."  He nearly let out a frustrated sigh, but the little training that was left made him contain it.  It didn't contain his thoughts, however, and he made use of that power: _This is going to be a long day._

"Why don't you relax, while I prepare supper, hm?"  Mercedes nodded to herself and, even before Logan could react, she was headed off to the kitchen.  "Make yourself at home," she tossed over her shoulder carelessly.  "Try not to eat anything, though; food should soon be ready."  She glanced at the clock.  "And don't avail yourself of any of my property," came the remark, stopping him just as he was reaching out to touch one of her statuettes of a cat - it made him think of Bast, the Egyptian goddess - but he wasn't about to steal it.  As if someone would dare think that of a Manticore-trained soldier!

_You're not in Wyoming anymore,_ came that annoying voice in his head.  His eyes started to glaze over as it reminded him of that fateful day ten years ago...

_Visions of blood-covered, fallen pine needles; scents of fear, pain, blood, sweat, anxiety; sounds of random gunshots, tazers shooting paralyzing electricity into one of his comrades, the pattering of feet on those same, fallen pine needles._..

"Guess what I got!"  The door slammed shut as the last, practically imperceptible echoes of the startling statement faded.  Logan reacted immediately even before he knew what he was doing, melting himself into what little shadow there was in the bright living room and controlling the nearly invisible tremors in his hands.  

In a hostile environment - he constantly reminded himself that he was _in_ such a place, even though it felt entirely natural to be in the Guevara penthouse - he would have been detected instantly.  Here, though, he was at leisure to observe with anonymity the black-clad female cross the space in great strides as she headed towards the kitchen.  Visual reports ended as soon as she moved around the corner, leaving him to rely upon his other heightened senses.

"You brought me a chicken!" came his employee's voice, full of cheer.    There was a slight pause.  "But, Max...?"  Here the voice coloured with uncertainty and worry, causing Logan to inch his way forward, just in case...  

"Didn't it cost a fortune?"

He stopped dead in his tracks and indiscernibly sighed with frustration.  _Logan,_ his still-Manticore side of his brain scolded, _you've become soft.  Worried about an inconsequential female whom you're using only for information, and after this entire thing is completed, you'll never see her again.  Pay attention to the objective soldier!_  The voice was so close to being real that he had to catch himself before he saluted.

"Actually, Mom…" The girl named Max sounded as if she was grinning mischievously.  "I got it for half its normal price.  It cost me the same as a chicken would have at the turn of the millennium."  She sighed, smug.  "Men just have no tolerance to pouting lips and a seemingly distressed damsel," she complained prettily.  "Ah, well."  She laughed.  "More power for me!"

Logan almost laughed with her, but not for the same things.  He couldn't believe her naiveté on that matt - _did she just say '_mom_'?!_  He blinked, surprised enough to momentarily forget his last vestiges of Manticore training.  He realized that he'd seriously overestimated the intelligence given to him on his new employee.

That was so not good.

Mercedes, unaware that Logan hadn't known about Max, just shook her head at her daughter's antics, smiling.  "Now I _know_ I should have enrolled you in some acting classes.  With a performance like that you would have gotten onto any stage in West End!"

Logan soundlessly padded around the living room area of the penthouse, displaying his rarely shown restless nature.  He could tell that this would be a long conversation.  However, since he had nothing else better to do except examine the same figurines over and over again, he kept listening.

Max's voice took on a frown type of quality.  "West End?  But Ma, you know I don't like the English!  All snobby and smoggy and…" She seemed to cast around for another excuse.  "And they put vinegar on their fries instead of ketchup!  I mean, ketchup is essential with fries!  How much weirder could you possibly get?"

At this, Logan mentally bristled, hands hesitating above a miscellaneous, ancient, and quite expensive object.  Even though she didn't know he was there, Max was readily pushing all of his buttons.   He didn't quite appreciate that.  

His mounting anger must have become a tangible force, because suddenly her mom's cheerful voice faltered as she tentatively led her daughter out of the kitchen.  "Max, I'd like you to meet Logan Cale.  He's brought us a new case."

Logan watched Max stop in her tracks when she caught sight of him, a look of surprise in her huge eyes at his presence.  He kept a cool demeanor as her gaze slowly traversed his body.  He could feel their penetrating stare on him as she started to circle him, hear their strangely-combined blood and breathing rates go up.  

He was immensely relieved that she had stepped away when she did.  He recognized the early, mental stages of what some called attraction.  Personally, he did not want the others in the room to recognize the more obvious physical stage, so he edged over towards the back of the couch as he chose his best tactical maneuver.  This amounted to a rather ineffective glare in Max's direction, which she promptly ignored.

Instead, as Max frowned from her newly reclaimed position next to her mother, she looked into his eyes quizzically for a moment.  Logan held his own in the impromptu staring contest, and allowed not one iota of emotion to escape into his eyes as she spoke.  "I guess being British and eating fries with that disgusting vinegar isn't the weirdest thing."  She appeared to study him a bit longer before continuing.  "You could be a trans-genetic nightmare with a childhood that consisted of studying the pros and cons of guerrilla warfare in the Sahara desert without water and doing Calculus by age ten."

Mentally gritting his teeth, he responded the same way; "And yet, you could be one of the many who are considered normal."

Max's eyes narrowed at this, but she wisely said nothing.  Instead, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out what looked like pink juice in a sloped bottle, allowing her mother to pick up the shards of the awkward silence by herself.

This was incredibly, terrifically, horribly _bad_.

Max kept her head from smacking the smooth granite bar top as her mother's one-sided conversation flowed over her - but just barely.  It was perfectly okay to have a person presenting a new case to her mother, because that was entirely normal.  But why did the informant have to be a completely and utterly _gorgeous_ Manticore prototype?  

A normal person would think that a gorgeous guy showing up in her penthouse would be perfectly sweet.  An educated person, who knew of the Gillette, Wyoming facility, would think that it'd be a wonderful learning opportunity.  But to mix them?

That was the ultimate injustice.

She took another long swig of her - blessedly - non-virgin strawberry daiquiri juice and attempted to gather her thoughts.  This was about as helpful as trying to capture sand with a sieve.  Quickly giving up on that idea, she turned her mindset into one of mourning categorization.

Normally, she would have been ecstatic at the prospect of talking to said Manticore prototype.  She had dreamt of such a thing as a little girl, as a teen, and even this week.  She knew exactly what she was going to say, what she was going to ask, and how she'd react.  In her mind, she had even picked out the weather and exact time!

Downing the rest of her daiquiri wine cooler and setting the bottle down hard enough to attract her mom's and her mom's guest's attention, Max grabbed an unopened cooler and stalked to her bedroom.  Once she had shut the door behind her firmly, she flopped onto her bed and picked up her phone, rapidly dialing a friend's number.

"Hey, Cindy?  ...Fine, _Original_ Cindy if you much insist; I really don't care at the moment, aiight?  Look, I gotta bounce from here before I go mad.  ...Yeah, I'm sorta trapped; Mom has an informant here tonight and lemme tell y', Cin, he totally freaks me out.  ...No, he's not gonna try to do anything like that!  Sheesh, gutter mind...  ...Shut it, aiight?  Just provide me with an excuse to escape as soon as dinner's over with - or is that too much work, Biker Chick?"  Laughter.  "Aiight, aiight, I'll be nice.  ...Thank you!  God, Cindy, I love ya!, and no, not in that way."  A bit more of the cooler is consumed, causing her to slurp a bit.  "Whaddya mean, 'is the alcohol out yet'?  ...No, Cindy, I wouldn't dare drink wit'out ya, 'cause you'd kill me, I know this.  ...Crash?  I can do that.  We'll get drunk and piss off Normal tomorrow."  More laughter.  "I'm so with you on that.  Aiight.  Late."

_Click._

Max sighed and leaned back on her bed, making sure her drink didn't spill.  She was long overdue for a chill-out night with her friends, where the pressures of daily life were whisked away by an unwritten code between them.  She grinned.

Friends kick ass.

**A/N**:  I recently finished rewriting this (I think I put it up at my LiveJournal much earlier this month.  That's where you guys should check for updates and the like, especially if FFN spazzes out again), and to my knowledge, this is the earliest time I could post this here. 

Since I did just finish rewriting this, there are probably some corrections made in the part that had bee posted previously.  Scan it over anyway, if you would, just in case something DID change.

This is mainly from Logan's POV now, and will probably stay that way – or at least away from Max's, because for some reason I can't write her except in short snippets (I think it's because her character is already so developed, and I risk changing it too much, while with Logan, Mercedes, Zack, and OC I can practically do whatever I want without too many mishaps).

I still would like to thank, however, the same exact people as before, as well as those who commented on the previously dubbed chapter three.  You guys kick so much ass, you should try out for the next Terminator movie – if there is one.  THANK YOU!  *glomp!*

I still thank **Sancho** more'n ever, though.  I hope you get her fic all straightened out and sent to me ASAP!  I still love it, man – and to those of you who actually read A/Ns, when it comes out I except all of you to comment, 'cause it's gonna be so incredibly nifty!  And I'll definitely be linkin' it to the chapter that comes out after it does – and to my faves for FFN, and on my LiveJournal, and…  oh, you get my drift.  ^^

**THANK YOU**:

Blaney, Sweetangel, Lesley, aegean, veggie_5, kay, Ashley, megan, trina, Max2019, Deepquote, soccerchick, and mustang.

**SPECIAL THANKS**:

**Jhondy**: You were the very first person to review, and for that, I cannot thank you enough. But I'll try – THANK YOU! ^__^

**Nikki**: You probably have forgotten about what you said, but you asked if Kelly would be to Logan as Zack was to Max. Hon, you don't know the half of it (as of right now, neither do I, but I've an idea. ^_^).

**Laura**: You've reviewed and followed each chapter faithfully, and you continued email contact with me, suggesting and prodding me to keep writing. I have to say, you're the only one to do that besides my beta-reader. ^______^ *glomp*

**EXTRA-SPECIAL THANKS**:

**Domino Nermandi**: Dearie, you have me that HUGE review unknowingly during a time where I was feeling down and not so good about myself. Your review sparked an interest in continuing to write and in keeping up that evil thing called 'self-esteem.' *major glompness* You also have reviewed each chapter faithfully (not that that's difficult, considering there's only two). Hopefully, this one meets your requirements. ~_^ I'm pretty sure that if you don't like this one, you'll love the next chapter. Go Max! *cheeky, I'm-not-telling grin*

**To everyone**: Keep reading! I cherish every single one of your reviews, as is witnessed by this page-long tribute to everyone who has reviewed already. ^__^ I'll see you at the next chapter!


	4. Operation: Crash

Chapter Four

_Guevara penthouse_

_It's a good thing I hung up when I did,_ Max reflected mere minutes after she got off the phone. Logan's penetrating voice had cut through the comfortable silence in her room, telling her that dinner was ready in monotone tones while seeming to case the place.

_Ugh._ She shivered as she helped set the table, causing the silverware to jingle slightly._ That guy creeps me out. I seriously hope he gives Mom the details, pays, and goes on his merry little way - and soon._ She made a face as she sat down to eat, ignoring as much of the conversation as possible.

"To minimize the danger," came Logan's words floating through her mind's haze, "we split into two groups. I put my SIC in charge of one, while I headed the other. By now, there were only a few of us left, at max - "

"Thirteen." Cheeky, Max expected her mom to quirk her lips at her small joke. Instead, she felt two glares in her direction, sobering her quickly. Now sullen, she muttered, "He said my name, geez, trying to lighten the mood a bit..." Her outburst ignored, he kept talking to her mother, and when a name was mentioned here or there, she could have laughed at the eagerness that played across her mother's face as she hastily jotted down notes if she hadn't been too absorbed in her own, rather selfish thoughts.

Finally, dinner was finished. Max had about enough of the talk on Manticore, and didn't care who knew. She stood abruptly, tossing her napkin onto the table and heading for the door. She grabbed her trademark black leather jacket, getting halfway down the hallway before her mother called for her.

_Sigh._

"Yes, O Mighty One?" Her arms crossed in front of her chest, assuming the internationally known position of the impatient.

Mercedes glared at her daughter, willing herself not to allow this to explode into something that she might regret later in front of her client. Ergot, her voice because sickly sweet, her smile even more so. "Oh, but honey, I was just wondering where you might be going at this hour of night." She batted her eyelashes.

_Two can play at this game. _"Oh, but Mother, I'm going to Crash, exactly like I do every night." _That I get stressed,_ she added silently.

_Sleep?_ Logan wondered. _Why would she be going out to sleep? Oh, wait,_ he paused, arriving at the seemingly correct solution, _it must be one of the infamous sleepovers. Right._

"But surely you could spare just this night to spend with your mother and guest?" Mercedes's voice took on a concerned inquiring tone.

Max contrived to look rightly ashamed. "I already promised my friends that I'd be coming! They're probably already there and waiting for me. I cannot let my friends down, as you've aptly stated several times before." She flashed a triumphant grin. "I don't know when I shall be back," she stated in a British accent. "I shan't be out much later than my normal. Ta!" She winked and with that parting remark, she disappeared out the door.

Mercedes's façade dropped as soon as the door shut behind her only child. Turning to Logan, her face became apologetic. "I'm very sorry you had to see that. I just don't know what's getting into her of late!" She sighed, pausing for a moment, during which Logan couldn't say a thing even if he wanted.

"Well." Her tone became bright again. "Why don't we continue? Come, let's to the living room. It's more comfortable." She stood with her notepad in hand and led the way, leaving Logan to follow.

He followed, but something was nagging at him. _I shouldn't get involved in this; it's a familial affair, and they are simply my employees - correction, _Mercedes_ is the only employee. _Mental sigh. _Oh, screw it. Damn manners. Damn Maybel for teaching me._ He addressed it before as he sat down on the rather large couch. 

"Ms. Guevara, since you seem so worried about Max, why don't I follow her and make sure she doesn't get into trouble?" His Manticore training was screaming at him for even suggesting it, but his iron will over it didn't waver.

Mercedes looked up in surprise from where she was jotting down questions to ask. She was so surprised, in fact, that her pencil fell to the floor and her jaw dropped. The reaction wasn't good, in Logan's mind. _Yep, just what you get for attempting to become normal, freak,_ he berated himself. _You should have listened to instinct and never even come here in the first – _

"You would do that?" Her tone was an incredulously happy squeak, causing the ex-Manticore soldier's head to jerk in surprise. He did a good thing? This is becoming normal? Maybe he wasn't a freak after all!

"Of course. I cannot allow my employee's familial concerns interfere with the research that you should be doing for me." His voice stayed the same monotone that it had been the entire evening. This caused Mercedes's almost smug happiness to diminish slightly.

"Right. Perfectly business." She forced a smile and closed her notebook. "We can resume this tomorrow at, say, nine in the morning?" At his stiff nod, she sighed. "Great. I'll um, just go over this information between then." She stood, causing - by manners - her guest to stand as well. "Until tomorrow?" She stuck out her hand, which was shaken. "Good night, Mr. Cale. It's been a pleasure talking with you."

"Good night, Ms. Guevara. I promise that your daughter won't meet with unnecessary harm tonight." He managed to produce a small smile and headed for the door.

As he left, Mercedes couldn't help but become worried at what he meant by 'unnecessary harm.'

_Crash_

Logan was lucky to find the place without any suspicion from the local populace. Apparently everyone from 16 and up frequented the place. He didn't know why.

As soon as he entered, the 'music' blared at him, making him wince as it almost overloaded his already-sensitive hearing. The strobe lighting didn't help, either, for his search for Max. Thankfully, though, his body didn't go into seizure because of it. _Manticore did something right after all,_ he wryly mused.

It was pretty easy to spot Max grinding with another guy on the dance floor once he got used to the lighting and learned to tune the music out. He understood the basic concepts of dancing, but this was definitely out of his depth - which consisted of waltzes and other such ballroom dancing material. This was new. Different. Most definitely risqué.

He must learn more.  

There was a brief hitch in his stride as Logan mentally stopped and corrected himself, but it was recovered quickly.  _That is, I must learn more about this environment in order to become normal in my behaviour.  It seems that everyone my age knows about this, even if they don't participate, and so I must have at least a passing knowledge._  Content with his self-reasoning and his ability to twist the truth enough to hide his curiosity even from himself, he moved on.  

His gaze traveled along the writhing mass of people, seeing what were obviously the inexperienced and very experienced forms of this dance style. He began to realize the value of a pre-Pulse band flinging beats and incomprehensible lyrics into a pot and mixing them together, then publishing them for all the world to hear. In fact, the more he watched, the more he felt like he had to grab someone and lose himself completely – 

_What the hell are you thinking?!_ Manticore's remnants raged at him. _This is entirely inappropriate behaviour, soldier!_

But then his gaze settled on a particular girl in front of him, and all rational thought abandoned ship. She was an incredibly gorgeous girl, standing around 5'6", with medium-length, brown, curly hair and luminous velvety-brown eyes – 

_Oh, shit._  Logan was horrified at himself.  He stopped in his tracks, dimly registering in his mind that he had been heading in her direction, as if he were following a siren's song.  He chastised his thoughts, coming to the conclusion that this music had to be watched out for, because if he didn't, then he could do anything without realizing – including almost hitting on his employer's daughter.

_Soldier!_  It was as if he were back at Manticore, Lydecker looming over him while he carefully studied the point directly in front him.  He stood at attention unconsciously, drawing some curious looks from the passersby.  He didn't see them, though; the dressing-down had already started, and the surroundings were super-imposed, combined images of the barracks and the standard-issue office that Lydecker occupied.

_You are a disgrace, X-5366!  You are not fit to lead a horse, you [slimy piece of toad shit], let alone hold a military designation of commanding officer!_  Logan winced, the movement imperceptible to those he ignored around him.  _I already knew you were worthless!_  The phantom Lydecker stepped closer, not stopping until he was directly in Logan's face.  In a quiet voice he knew only the X-5 series could pick up, he murmured, _I always regretted my decision to place you in charge._  For a second, the Manticore creation could have sworn that the colonel's eyes glinted maliciously – but he could only use his peripheral vision, so it was gone in an instant.  

_I knew that X-5599 would have made a better leader._

By this time, Logan had gotten over his anger at himself, so the tirade abruptly stopped, the scenery reverting back to the original.  He couldn't help but feel, however, that his leader's parting barb had at least some modicum of truth behind it.  Logan wasn't well versed with depressive tendencies and how to react with them, but he was pretty sure that, if the last statement wasn't true, then it had been fabricated from his own suspicions and own occasional feelings of worthlessness at not doing his job properly.

The rigid posture melted away, leaving Logan slightly trembling and cursing the fact that he'd forgotten his bottle of pills back at the apartment with Maybel.  And, if he wasn't mistaken, his employer's daughter was heading his way.

Damn manners.

Max knew her fun time with her friends was over as soon as one of the said friends pointed out 'one real fine white brotha over there tempting Cindy to start battin' for the other team' standing on the balcony above the pit. The only males who could even attempt to capture one Original Cindy's attention had to be souped-up with enhanced DNA.

"Oh, this is so not shibby," she groaned as she reluctantly yet determinedly headed off the floor towards the figure.

"What? Did Original Cindy make a mistake? She thought pointing out a guy for you was a good thing." Cindy shot a confused look in Max's direction. It didn't matter, though, because the other female just shrugged it off and approached the stranger, leaving her bewildered friend to either follow or go get more beer. She tagged along to the best of her ability, but the other patrons of the club quickly separated them.

"What in the hell are you doing here, Logan?" Max demanded, yelling over the din.  She knew that his hearing would have been sensitive enough to hear a pin drop on the other side of the room, even with all of this noise, but the action of yelling made her feel better.  "Did I leave a green neon sign saying, 'Follow me!' flashing on my forehead? Why aren't you back at the house, giving my mother information or something?"  She had a nasty suspicion that her mother put him up to this whole thing, under the pretense of keeping her safe.  _When will she realize that I don't _want_ a boyfriend?!_

Logan had to hesitate a few seconds before responding.  Not only was he still slightly chagrined that he'd been thinking about Mercedes's daughter with less than a protective slant, but his shaking was getting worse.  He knew that, in order to escape this place quickly, he had to get Max pissed off enough at him to leave in a huff.  So, he brought out his most effective weapon against the opposite sex.

He smiled.

"Oh, no way.  No _fucking_ way."  Max growled deep in her throat while sending her best glare in his direction.  It didn't seem to faze him, _blast it_.  She spun on her heel and, grabbing Cindy by the arm – she'd just gotten there – she stormed back toward the bar.

The bartender, upon seeing the look of murderous intent that had appeared on her face, quickly poured a mug of beer and set it in front of the stool she plopped into just seconds later.  After the Pulse, no one cared about the legal drinking age.  As she gulped a hefty portion of the brew down, she vaguely spotted Cindy coming up to lean against the bar to her right.  Max ignored her, though, and took another swig.  The look of dawning understanding, if Max had seen it, would have been glared off her friend's face and left in the dirt.

Cindy could tell by her best boo's actions that she had a thing for the guy they'd just abandoned in the middle of the floor.  She wisely decided not to broach the subject directly; instead, she chose a safer, less-painful-all-around method.

"Ya… wanna talk about it?"  Her dark, chocolate brown gaze took in the mug rising yet again.  _At this rate, she'll be plastered in just a few hours!_

"There's nothing to say."  Max's tone suggested Cindy drop it, but she wasn't that easily swayed.  In fact, she stared to get angry at her friend's stubbornness.

"Hell no!"  Glare.  "You be actin' all whack 'n shit in front of a guy that, by all appearances, is just tryin' to be nice.  Then, you do an about-face, grab the nearest beer, and start gulpin' that cheap-ass shit down like there'll be no more left in the world by tomorrow morning!"  She paused for a breath and to examine the face of her companion before she continued.  "Girl…" Sigh.  "We gotta have a talk, otherwise it's gonna eat at you from the inside."

"Whatever."  Gulp.  Scowl.

"Maxwell Emily Guevera!"  The use of her full name apparently shocked Max enough into meeting Cindy's eye.  "You like him; don't deny it.  That's why you be drinkin' more'n usual."  She flipped a few bills down onto the counter and slipped into her jacket.  Seattle still got chilly in late spring.

Max watched in a sort of frustrated amusement.  She knew Cindy well enough to tell when she wouldn't give up, and this so happened to be one of those times.  And even though she knew they were heading there anyway, she offered the use of her place and her stash of wine coolers for the rest of the night's "entertainment."

The black woman grinned as Max followed her lead and got ready to leave.  "Much better.  Now; let's blaze."

Max nodded absently, thinking that she rather liked that phrase.  "Yeah.  Blaze."

_Finally_.  Logan watched the pair slip out of the joint with relief.  It was just a short trip back to the Gueveras' – to make sure they got back safely, of course - and then only a 15-minute jog back to his place, which housed his much-needed tryptophan.

As he followed them, a small part of his brain was dedicated to piecing together what had just happened, including Max's reactions, his own responses, and what Max's best friend – by all appearances – had said.  

Yes, he was still immeasurably remorseful of his impulses from earlier, but even though most of it was locked away so he could deal with it later, the addition of Max liking him in the physical sense was making it just that much more difficult.  

Damn voluntary jobs.  They always got him in trouble.

**Author's Note: **Even though I'm posting this today (Aug 15th), it was done by July 28th.  I just didn't have the time to post, or, to be more accurate, I forgot about it once I got it finished, heh.  -_-  Sorry!  But hey, it's just a re-write, and I doubt anyone will go back and read it, so…!  ^^  This is kinda pointless.  However, this chapter went from 2141 words to 2665, and no, that's /not/ including the AN, bwa.

In this chapter, I changed the _Crash_ scene, because frankly, it sucked.  I also have credence to a little subplot that's sorta intro'd in "Brothers in Arms," or Chapter Five.  If you're not fluent with the X-5's numbers, "X-5599" means Zack.  Yes, that has meaning later on.  If you've visited my archive for 'Reverse' (http://www.angelfire.com/wa/DesertRose/reverse/index.html) you've probably noticed the little hints I've been giving people, such as "Insane!Zack turned into Nice!Zack and there was nothing I could do about it!"  _Pay attention to these hints!_  They're very important later on.  ^.~


	5. Brothers In Arms

_Disclaimer:_  Despite me forgetting to place these on every chapter – I think… - I do **not** own Dark Angel.

_Author's Note:_  This chapter has been done since the third, but this is the first time I've been able to access my account here at FFN, let alone Mr. Document Manager thingie.  .  I have an archive on my site specially designed for 'Reverse,' in case of FFN outages or just my sheer laziness to log onto FFN and go through all the hassle.  All updates are also posted there.  Link?: 

http://www.angelfire.com/wa/DesertRose/reverse/index.html

I hope everyone isn't too mad at me for the delay.  I seriously worked hard on this thing, even though I deleted about two and a half pages.  .  More detail at the site, but essentially Insane!Zack transformed into Nice!Zack, and it snowballed.  Needless to say, my muses got a harsh kick, lemme tell ya.

Love ya all for reviewing!  ^^

_Lanna_

Logan looked up distastefully at the looming purple clouds.  It was going to rain – again.

Not that he wasn't used to it - quite the opposite, really.  He'd been living in Seattle for a month, and the sky seemed to pour every two days.  The electric in what the local populace deemed his "apartment" was shoddy, to say the least.  Brownouts were becoming increasingly more frequent as the seasons started to change, bringing more and more lightning.

Finding no use in arguing at something that he had no control over, Logan just tucked his hands deeper into the pockets of his beaten-up old jacket that he'd "rescued" out of a dumpster and continued on towards his destination.  If he didn't get this job, their money would be gone and Maybel would be forced into waiting up late at night worrying while he skulked around the penthouses.

Thinking of penthouses brought his mind to focus onto last night's events.  Carefully avoiding his more… basic thoughts, he let loose a small smirk as he thought of the hangover Max and her friend would be receiving when they woke up this morning.  

_That's why I never drink._  He ducked into the ramp's opening of his prospective employer's building.  Glancing at the sign, Logan mentally composed himself and was ready when he reached the center of activity, looking for the owner.

"Excuse me."  A person behind the counter spun at his voice irritably.  "Sorry to interrupt," injected Logan hurriedly, "but I have an interview with the owner at 3:30.  Do you know where I might find him?"  He glanced around at the rushing people.

"I am who you seek."  The ex-soldier turned in almost a surprised manner.  "Welcome to JamPony.  Logan, is it?"

When Mercedes stumbled into the kitchen that morning, she couldn't help but grin at the sight before her.  On barstools sipping the biggest mugs of black coffee she'd seen since her college days sat Max and Cindy.  Upon the counter in-between them an open bottle of Advil was located.

"Have fun last night, girls?"  Tying her light purple terrycloth robe tighter around her waist, Mercedes walked to the fridge and rummaged about for something she could eat without disturbing the walking advertisements for Why Not To Drink Alcohol. She left the kitchen, grabbing a cold loaf of garlic bread.  "Don't forget about the outing with Zack, Max.  You've had it planned for weeks."  And with her reminder completed, she shut herself in the computer room.

"Totally not cool…" This came out through a mouthful of hot coffee, much to the friends' dismay – especially to Max as it landed on the counter and down her front.

"You just lost some prime juice, girl.  Mmhmm, but that's a shame." _Slurp.  Head clutch._

"I don't need your advice on this, Cindy."  Snapping quietly, she was in the process of mopping up at the mess she'd made, all the while holding her head.  "I would appreciate your advice on how to avoid Zack though.  As we both know, I'm not in the best shape to go out on a shopping trip."

"Original Cindy thinks that you should tell him you lost your credit card somewhere by the Space Needle.  That'll get him away fast enough."  There wasn't enough coffee in Cindy to act completely normal.  There was, however, the minimal amounts required to allow her to use semi-rational thought.

"Nah.  You forgot" – _gulp_ – "that he 'absolutely **loathes** the inner city.'  He thinks the locals'll jump out of nowhere and ruin his manicure."  The resulting snicker from her drinking buddy gave way to a grin from Max.  "I'll deal with it as it comes, I guess.  Maybe I'll just have him stay here and plead sickness.  It was right this morning, eh?"  She laughed softly, feeling better by the second.  

"You mean you'd rather have him **here**?  What about that whole, 'Zack will not cross the threshold of this house while I'm still alive' promise?"  Cindy eyed her friend shrewdly as Max walked towards the fridge.

Wait a sec – did I just see her go – 

"Max, no!  No food, _please_, I'm still dyin' over here, and so will you be, if you go a step closer…!"  She watched, horror-struck, as her best friend and comrade continued on her path…

…and took a bottle of water out.  Cindy could only sigh in relief and glare at the brunette laughing at her unfounded worry.

Max finally decided on which course of action to take with Zack, after talking with Cindy for a few hours while they waited for the hangovers to disappear.  She would invite him over, claiming that she wasn't feeling well, and her university professors were really packing it on this month.  She wasn't lying, she reasoned with herself.  _I'm just not telling the entire truth._

As she waited for her sporadic best friend to show up, she pondered over their 'relationship' that they'd had for the past ten years or so.  They were almost completely opposite of each other, gender not withstanding.  Zack was, every once in awhile, more girlish than she, always planning shopping extravaganzas, parties, and hunting for furniture.  She still didn't get that last one figured out.

_But Zack…_  Max sighed.  Zack could also be so strange sometimes.  She remembered one day after they'd gone shopping and were walking back home that he'd suddenly ducked into a run-down side street in the middle of her sentence.  Confused, she'd gone after him, and had found him crouching, staring upwards.  Following his gaze, she discovered one of the police 'bots hovering above them.  

When they'd finally gotten out of the alleyway, Max had pelted him with questions, and to each of them he just laughed and said, "It's a game that my brother and sisters play.  Don't worry about it, Max."  And with that, he ruffled her hair and changed the subject.  She hadn't thought much about it until she'd seen Logan do the same thing, but only he'd use his cap.

It was a mystery she'd have to figure out, but at a later date.

"Zack!" she exclaimed, putting on a pleased countenance and standing up to embrace him.  "Sorry I couldn't make it; you know how college is."  She made a face and sat back down, cheering up a little.  

Max and Zack were talking about inconsequential things – at least, to Max's point of view – when the doorbell rang.  Puzzled at who else was going to show up, Max excused herself to Zack, who was okay with it, and answered the door.

_Oh, God_, she thought, suppressing a groan.  _This is totally _not_ cool…_

Logan, on the other side of the threshold, was having a pretty good day.  He got the job, which was simplicity in the highest form, and it would allow him a greater knowledge of the city.  The only thing that would make his day even better was any information that Mercedes could have on his siblings.  The problem?  It wasn't a Mercedes that answered the door.

"Miss Guevara."

"Mr. Cale!" Max replied with obviously false cheerfulness.  "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

_I don't know what brought this on,_ pondered Logan suspiciously, _but I know that two can play this game._  "I just wished to get an update on my case," he responded in an equal tone, flashing her a grin.  Deftly stepping around the now-stunned Max, he walked into Mercedes's office, not seen by Zack in the living room.

Max, upon finding herself returning to some sort of conscious thought, was disgusted by how she'd acted.  She shut the door rather forcefully and returned to the couch across from Zack.  

Observing her as she flopped back down on the sofa, Zack couldn't help but smile wryly.  "Unwanted visitor?"

A groan came from Max.  "Ugh…  Talk about 'master of the obvious.'"  This earned a grin from both.  "Yeah; but there's nothing I can do for it, though."  At her friend's puzzled look, she continued.  "It's one of Mom's clients."  A nod of understanding followed this, though Max had the nagging suspicion that she had never told him about her mother's business.

Suddenly, there was a yell from the computer room before Logan came storming out and into the living room.  He almost missed the new presence sitting across the coffee table from Max.  Pausing abruptly, he stopped mid-stride.  The outrage suddenly evaporated away from his countenance, being fast replaced by surprise.  Now ignoring Max, he turned his full attention to Zack, smiling.

"Zack!  Wow, you've grown!"  It sounded lame to all involved, but Logan didn't care.  He'd just found his brother, even after reports that no one had yet been discovered.  He stepped forward, arms extended.  Zack stood, also with a grin on his face, and the long-lost brothers embraced amidst lots of back thumping.

"Logan!"  Zack laughed, releasing him.  "What took you so long, huh?  Everyone's been worried about you!"  He didn't seem to notice the subtle changes in Logan's face to show that he wasn't particularly happy with this new change of events.  

Everyone?…  Zack just went on about it all.  "Our mighty CO was gone, and Kelly wasn't anywhere to be found, either, so we were all high and dry, y'know…?"  There was an awkward silence for about two seconds, before he laughed again, this time nervously.  "Um…" He not so subtly gestured to Max.  "Did I uh… reveal too much?" There was a nondescript glint to her eye that Logan didn't quite like.  He couldn't do anything about it, though, because at that point she butted into the conversation. 

"So, wait a second."  She glared at both of them, most definitely confused.  "You mean to tell me… that Zack, Mr.-I-love-to-shop, is an X-5?"  She turned to Logan, accusation clear in her voice.  "And you _knew_ this?"  She moved again so both were in her field of view.  There was a pause, before she threw up her hands and stomped into the kitchen.  The brothers could only glance at each other before there was the sound of a slamming refrigerator door.  She stomped past them, each hand filled with a wine cooler, as she ignored them both.  For seconds only, the sound of her feet echoed throughout the house.  Then, out of nowhere, her door slammed, rattling the remote on the coffee table.

There was a brief silence in which the two soldiers could breathe normally.  Zack opened his mouth to speak – 

- and shut it, corresponding with the frazzled appearance of Mercedes.  

"Just _what_ is going on in here?!"  

Slightly daunted by an outraged mother, Logan and Zack exchanged glances, before deciding that they had two choices: flee, and return to fight another day, or stay, tell everything, and help out with supper.

"Um, Logan?"  Zack looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train.  Said brother noted this carefully, and announced his decision.

"Flee."

Meanwhile, in Max's room… 

"I totally can_not_ believe it, Cindy!  Ugh!  This hurts.  I mean, I knew Zack was probably gay, what with the masses of shopping excursions and obsessing over manicures, pedicures, and credit card amounts, but this is just too much!  They're both _gorgeous_!"

**** Yeah, well, Original can't help ya wit' dat, boo.  Y'know dat she swings the other way, babe. ****

"I know, I know…" Max mumbled quietly into her bottle of alcohol before tipping it back for the last vestiges of liquid.  She repositioned herself on her bed, tucking her pillow under her arms so she was propped up.  "But think of it this way.  What would you do if you were introduced to the most gorgeous girl you've ever seen, with all the things that you look for, but then you found out that she was a super-soldier from a corrupt government facility with the knowledge of a score of geniuses…" Max trailed off, allowing her friend to supply everything else of which she could think.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, before Cindy cleared her throat, drawing Max's attention back.  **** Original Cindy would be all over her in two seconds flat. ****

A frustrated yell tore itself out of the back of her esophagus.  "Dammit, Cindy!  You're _not helping_!"


	6. Insubordinate Plots

_Guevara Penthouse_

_Seattle, Washington_

_4:30 P.M. Sunday_

Max was sitting down on her bed, pen in her mouth, paper on her computer-programming textbook.  She had to think of a plot **tonight** for her short story English assignment she'd gotten a week before from her professor.  It was due Monday, and had to be two double-spaced typed pages.  Her outline was no help - the more she thought about the outline's plot, the more she realized it was idiotic and would be impossible to write.

Sighing, she swept her medium-length, darkly golden-brown, curly hair back into a ponytail and gazed out the window.  The whole day was dim; it was raining, the sun was gone, and she wasn't using a lamp for light.  The music playing on her radio behind her was throbbing, the lyrics provocative.  She could feel the bass reverberating through her bed and into her bones.

The setting reminded her of the talk that had been floating around school about the club CRASH, when everyone had first discovered it.  The joint was located downtown Seattle, and without realizing it, she began to put pen to paper, not noticing the words flowing easily from the tip as she combined her many experiences into the place's description.

_The place was crowded.  People were everywhere - some drinking at the bar, looking morosely into their mugs; some out on the dance floor, outfits glittering and gleaming with every movement; some chatting at the tables along one wall.  Still others were playing at the old, beat-up Pinball, Foosball, and pool tables._

_Neon lights flashed in time to the throbbing, pulsating beat of the music.  Lyrics were incomprehensible, lost in the shouts of speech traveling among the bar, tables, and game area._

"Crap."  Max gnawed at her pen as she thought.  "I need a name."  She snorted.  "Tch, knowing guy or girl would be helpful."  She stopped and thought deeply for a bit.  The decision wasn't that difficult to make.  "Guy.  I'm better at writing from their points of view anyway.  Now, as for a name..." She leaned over her bed and opened her door **very** carefully, as it was nearly five feet away.  "MUM!" she yelled down the hallway.

Mercedes poked her head into her daughter's room just seconds later, making Max realize that her mother was probably already heading towards her room, or standing very close by already_._  "Remember what I said about yelling?"  She grinned wryly.

"Yes, Mum," Max cheekily replied, slipping into her British mode for a second.  "But I had a question on homework."  She shot her mom her most innocent puppy-dog eyes, which she could tell had practically no effect.  _Damn._

"And...?"

"Oh.  Um..." Max's face screwed up, her nose wrinkling cutely.  "Right!  Um, what was Kevin's uncle's name on his dad's side?"

Mercedes looked surprised at this question, but she answered it anyway.  "Louis.  Why?"

"Eh, that won't work..." Max stuck her pen in her mouth again, much to the dismay of her mother.  Mercedes had hoped that Max would have been more like her father when it came to mouth fetishes, but alas, it wasn't meant to be.  Between the two of them, no writing utensils in the house were safe.

"Mum?" came Max's inquiring voice.

"Huh?  Oh, sorry, babe.  Just thinking.  What'd you ask?"

"Geez!"  Max looked a bit hurt.  "What's wrong?  You've been ignoring me, or spacing out, or both a lot lately."  Her worried, velvet-brown eyes peered deeply into her mother's brandy-coloured eyes.  "Is it Manticore?"

Silence.

"Mother!"

"What?"  Mercedes snapped.  She ran a hand through her hair to get the strays out of her face.

"You're _supposed_ to tell me when a problem comes up about the business!"  Max's voice softened slightly as she regarded her frazzled-looking mother with a soft smile.  "We've been able to share anything, Mum, and I'd rather like to keep it that way."  Her eyes twinkled.  "Even past 40."

Mercedes sighed.  "Hon, there's nothing you can do about the Manticore organization.  They're cruel, heartless people, creating human beings in order for the organizers to rule the world through military prowess."

"That's only the soldiers, Mom.  They're the ones who can do the damage," Max pointed out.  "And even then, they seriously don't know any better.  It's not their fault – it's their programming."

"Yes, well."  Mercedes dropped the subject abruptly as she stood up from where she had taken a seat on Max's bed and headed towards the hallway.  "Kevin's coming over tonight to help me on research.  Are you going to go out with Zack tonight?"

"I've decided against it, actually.  I have work to do for my AP English course, which is what I originally brought you in here to ask about.  I need a good guy name - and before you ask, 'Louis' just isn't gonna cut it."

"How about 'Blaise'?" Max's mother suggested.

"Wait a sec -- innit that a girl's name?"

Mercedes laughed.  "Of course not!  It was the name of one of my best friends growing up.  Granted, he was gay, but he was most certainly **not** a girl."

Max burst out in laughter.  "Oh my gosh!  I didn't know that kind of thing was that well-accepted in the '90's!"

"It wasn't by most, but my friends were **obviously** okay with it."  Mercedes smiled.  "Supper will be done soon - I'm expecting Kevin, of course, but I'm going to be ready just in case anyone else shows up."

"Mom?"  Mercedes's only daughter dropped the British nickname in her suspicion.  "It's not going to be a blind date now, is it?"

"What**ever** gave you that idea, love?"  Mercedes could only laugh as she dashed out of the room, narrowly avoiding the incoming barrage of pillows and stuffed animals.

"**Parents**," Max exhaled with frustration, disgust, and a bit of amusement all mixed together.  "Now...  Where was I?"

_Blaise looked around casually, taking in any and all details that he could.  _Yep,_ he decided._  I could like this place.__

_He leisurely stepped down the stairs leading from the door, trying to figure out whether he should go straight into dancing or just get a drink first.  He knew the liquor would loosen him up substantially, and help him forget his lack of dancing ability, but he still had to drive home._

_Bugger._

_"Well, this is quite a dilemma..." he mused out loud.  He hadn't totally realized he'd spoken when a voice with a Southern accent sounded behind him:_

_"Dilemma?  And why's that, sug?"_

Whoa._  Surprised, he whirled around, to come face-to-face with a pretty girl.  She looked to be about 14 at first glance, but he remembered to never assume all was not as it seemed._

"Tell me about it," Max absently muttered around her pen, distractedly reaching behind her to a knob on her CD player, cranking the volume on her _Dark Angel_ soundtrack.  The hip-hop bass beats, haunted harmonies in the background, and the stimulating meaning of the lyrics made a perfect blend.  Max was lost in the whirlwind, the paper taking up her entire concentration.

_Her hair was a crimson-auburn mix, with the two front-most locks of hair being platinum.  There wasn't a dyed quality to any of it, making him wish he knew her beautician.  Her skin was flawless - what little he could see, at any rate.  She seemed to be covered from head to foot: gloves on her arms and hands where her shirt didn't reach, a scarf around her neck, pants hugging ever-shapely curve of her hips._

_Getting back to her eyes, though - a pretty brown-ish green (too brown to be a true hazel) - he realized something.  They were too old for one who looked so young.  In them, Blaise could have sworn that he could see the contents of his soul reflected back; he could see the world in those murky depths._

_Giving himself a shake, he said the first thing on his mind: "Is it natural?"_

_She looked amused and not offended; a plus in his favor.  "Yes.  I was involved in an... incident a few years back, and this" - she fingered her silvery locks - "is my trophy."  Upon his silence, she asked, "So, handsome, you have a name, or just go by 'Nanashi'?"_

_"'Nanashi'?" he repeated, slightly puzzled._

_"It means 'no name' in Japanese, roughly."  She smiled.  "Gonna answer my question?"_

_"Oh!"  Blaise was jolted out of his stunned state once again.  "Of course!  Um... Blaise.  I'm Blaise Zabini.  What's your name, if I may ask?"  He turned on his full charm, hoping to make up for his lack of communication in the initial stages of their conversation._

_"I'm Marie."_

_"Is there an equally beautiful last name to go with the first?"  He smiled with what he hoped to be a look to induce trust._

_"Nope.  Just Marie."  She laughed, breaking the slightly tense mood.  "Do you want a drink?  My treat."  _Her eyes look younger when she smiles,_ came his absent-minded thought._

"MAX!" came the bellow from the kitchen area of the Guevara penthouse.  It startled her so much the abused pen skidded across the paper, blotting out some of the words.

"Arghhg!"  She tossed her book, papers, and pen down onto her coverlet of green, silver, and black dragons and snakes.  She wrenched her door open, left it thus, and stomped down the hallway, turning to the right and into the dining room.

"Remember the rule, Mum?" Max asked with false sweetness when she was within normal hearing range.  At her mother's blank look, her grin turned predatory.  "No yelling in the house."  Skipping into the kitchen, she forced Mercedes to quell her murderous rage and urge to commit homicide.  Mercedes had said once that her kitchen was her most favored room in the entire penthouse, and if the linoleum was so much as **dusty**, she went on a killing spree.  Outside the kitchen, of course.

"That's not fair, Max, and you know it!" chuckled Mercedes, giving up.  She knew that her daughter could outwit her in many things, and this, apparently, was one of them.  _If I'm not careful,_ she thought, _Max'll take over the business from underneath me.  She's not ready for it!_

Stamping her fear down, she brought herself into the present, which probably wasn't a good idea.  Max was bent over the pots on the stove, and Mercedes could just **imagine** what she was doing.

"Stop!"

Max whirled, eyes wide.  Mercedes pointedly looked at her hand, where fingers were clutched around a bit of the chicken tenders that her mother was making for supper that night to go with the fettuccini alfredo.

"...Stop what, Mum?"  Max popped the piece of chicken into her mouth, as if to hide the evidence.  "W'a'd I 'o?  I 'innit 'o any'ing!"  She succeeded in keeping bits of food from flying out of her mouth as she spoke.

Laughing ruefully, Mercedes just threw were hands up in defeat for the second time in ten minutes.  "You're impossible!"  Her daughter just grinned.  "Hehe, now; get out of my kitchen!  Go wait for Kevin, Max no baka(1). Shoo!  Go!"

Max skipped out of the kitchen happily, despite the insult from her mother.  It was said lovingly, anyway, so she didn't mind.  Plopping down on the soft, Italian-leather sofa, she flipped on the music, turned on the TV, and took her laptop out from under the cushion by her feet.  Getting comfortable, she keyed in the accurate code to get into her hidden files.  As she hummed along with the current song, she plugged the modem into the phone jack she and her mother had requested to be placed by the TV and couch.

Idly Max hacked into the TV station, an antique thing existing since pre-Pulse.  Keeping the line open and secure (the station had no one onboard who would know how to recognize a hack if it hit them square in the eyes), she got up and hooked the stereo into her computer.  She sent the "virus" containing the music and a few images she'd scored through some massive digging on the newly-established Internet into the TV station's mainframe.  Soon enough, the boring pictures of lying politicians kissing babies - a trait her mother said that hadn't changed since the early 20th century – was suddenly decorated with dancing chibi Shinigamis wielding thermal scythes(2), her pre-Pulse CD _Amethystium odonata_ playing in the background.

"Hehehe." Max snickered, clearly enjoying the show.

Just then, the buzzer sounded, and she ended the transmission, leaving the reporters to pick up the pieces.  She got up and answered the comm.

"Yes? ... Oh, of **course** Kevin is welcome, Mr. Jones! ... Please, yes, go ahead and send him up ... [laughter] we know, Mr. Jones, and thanks again for looking out for Mum and I. ... Have a great day!"  Max ended the conversation at just the right time, because as soon as she let up the button the doorbell rang.

"Kevin!"  The man in question found a Max-shaped blur attached to him as soon as the door opened.

"Oof!"  His arms snaked around her to hug her in return.  "Max, you're getting too old for this!" he smiled. 

"Nah.  You're just getting out of shape," replied Max cheekily.  Taking his bad and coat, she led the way into the penthouse.  "Make yourself at home!  Mum says that chow'll be ready shortly.  It's good, too."  Her lips quirked.  "I still got it," she proudly stated.

Kevin laughed.  "Great!  I taught you well, young grasshopper."

"No you didn't.  I just learn easily."  She plopped down onto her recently vacated place on the couch, having put his coat away while they talked.

Kevin took in the room.  As per usual, nothing had changed in the decorations.  It was a lovely design that even conformed with the feng shui that had become so popular on the west coast when the room was adorned.  The living room was still a warm orange, the metal fixtures a bright gold.  The couches were dusky brick red leather that was so soft they made you feel as if you were sitting in a pile of downy feathers.  The carpet, thick and plush, was a rich yellowy-cream color, only covering the places where people walked.  Wood planking was under the furniture, which was where the modem plug-in was located.

_Speaking of modem..._

"Hacked into the TV station again, Max?"

Startled, Max looked down from her study of the ceiling.  "Nani(3)?  I didn't do -- " She spotted her laptop still hooked up to the stereo and the phone jack in the floor.  The TV was still on, too.  "Ehheh...  Um..." She blushed, and suddenly found her old, beaten up pink ballet slippers fascinating.

"Max..." He sighed.  "What did I tell you about this?"  Kevin watched her face closely.

She didn't look up while she answered.  "'Don't hack into something that will cause trouble for the innocent.'  But Kev, it was just **there**, and I was so **bored** - "

"Hon, I know.  But there are rules to be obeyed.  You **must** follow them, or otherwise you'll get into trouble."  Kevin patted her knee.  "Don't worry.  I'll ignore this incident for now, but next time, you won't be so lucky.  'Aiight'?"

His usage of the slang she and her friends used daily shook a laugh out of her.  "Yes, **Father**." she said jokingly.  Bending down to unhook the computer, she missed the look of pain that flitted across his face.

"Supper's ready!  Max, has Kevin arri -- oh, hi, Kevin!"  Mercedes entered the room from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a purple hand towel.  She smiled broadly.  "When did you get here?"

"Oh, I've been here about five, ten minutes.  No worries," he finished, standing up to return her hug.  "I heard the food is to be excellent...?"  Kevin wore a smug smile, a comfortable-looking pair of black jeans, and an emerald green soft cotton shirt.  His shoes were an old pair of brown leather moccasins.  His coal-black hair, a bit shaggy, hung partially over his brilliant green eyes, which gazed at Mercedes with an adoring cast.

Max missed the looks of love exchanged between the two adults as she dived towards the table laden with food and drink.  She was about to start filling her plate with the first layer (the fettuccini noodles) when she was stopped by a swat to her hand with the towel her mother had been using just the minute before.

At her wounded look, Mercedes stated, "Sorry, baby, but wait until we're **all** seated, please?"

A sigh came from Max.  "O**kay**..."

Mercedes had succeeded, once again, to dazzle Kevin with what she "just whipped up in a few hours."  Besides the chicken fettuccini alfredo, there was steamed broccoli, fresh Italian breadsticks - homemade, of course - and a glass of white wine for all of them (even though Max was only 18, at home her mother allowed her to drink sparingly).  No one had shown up to join them for dinner, of which Max was very grateful.  All of the blind dates her mother had set up for her ended in **disaster**.

"Well, we're off to the computer room, Max.  I need Kevin's input for the Manticore case, along with a few others I can't solve."  Mercedes stood up and placed her napkin on the table next to her plate, Kevin following her movement.  

"Okay."  Max drank the last of her wine and also stood up.  "I've got homework to do, anyway."

"All right, well, have doubtful fun.  I'll contact you if necessary."  They headed in the direction of the computers.

"Geez, Mum, it's not like it's the military or something," muttered Max, putting her jewel-toned sapphire cloth napkin beside her plate as well.  She got up and went to the kitchen for a wine cooler.  _She'll never know._

Back in her room, Max turned her music on and cranked it.  She picked up a pair of headphones that were plugged into a suspicious-looking hole in the wall that was hidden by her bed and punched a code into the keypad beside it.

_Have you got a better feed, Merche?_  It was Kevin's voice.  Max had bugged the whole penthouse, and the computer room wasn't bereft of its share of the devices.

_No!  I've been trying for days, but the cameras in Manticore's lab are practically un-hackable._

_Have you tried...?_

Max tuned out the conversation, content that they were actually working and not making out.  According to her, even parents were capable of getting their freak on, no matter how disgusting it seemed.  She often wished, though, that they would just stop beating around the bush and get married before the world ended.

Taking her paper, pen, and book in hand again, she started to write again, describing Blaise having a few drinks with Marie before taking her back to his place where, totally unsuspected by her, she was asked if she knew how to hack into a TV station.  Upon her answer in the affirmative, she was held at gunpoint by a man that she hadn't even seen in the shadows, forced into a computer chair by another, and instructed to hack in and do whatever her captors said by Blaise.  She was also instructed that if she ever told anyone what happened that night, she wouldn't live to be helped.

So, Marie did what they told her; she hacked into the TV station's mainframe and planted a virus.  It wasn't an ordinary, I'll-take-out-your-mailbox type of virus.  No; instead, it was one that would infiltrate all broadcasts made, and would show specific signals that only certain people understood.  These signals would tell the people to come to an arranged destination, where the criminal overlords, the people who kidnapped her, would plan their takeover of the government.  Apparently there were thousands of them, because their meeting place was immense.

After Marie was done, they gave her a substantial amount of money to pay her off in order to ensure her silence and dropped her off three blocks away from her home.  The next week, Washington, D.C. was utterly destroyed, and anyone even remotely connected with the government (a grandmother of a janitor in the basement of Ford's Theatre, for example) was eliminated.  The thugs took over, and Marie never said a word.  She didn't have a chance - police found her body in the river the day before the coup (4).

When she was done, her mind seemed to be shaken out of its focused daze, her ears suddenly hearing the music without voices coming from the headphones, her eyes abruptly realizing that they were really dry, and her inner clock immediately sensing that three in the morning was **way** passed her bedtime.

"Ugh..." Jerkily because she was tired, Max dropped her writing materials onto the thick, green carpet that was her floor and slammed the 'off' switch of her radio, effectively stopping Blink 182's lead singer in the middle of the phrase "rock show."  She dragged the covers over her head, forgetting in her exhausted state to turn off the lights.

She woke up late the next morning, having forgotten to set her alarm the previous night.  A vulgar expletive rhyming with 'muck' escaped her mouth as Max glanced at her bedside digital clock and flung herself out of bed and into her closet.  She rummaged around for clothes, throwing a bra, shirt and pair of pants on with abandon, not caring if they matched.  Grabbing the story that she wrote the previous night, she dashed to the kitchen.  She snatched a breakfast bar from a cabinet before running out the door, slipping into shoes on the way.  A brief silence reigned until the door burst open again, and Max tore her leather jacket from its peg.  

"Bye Mum!  Love ya!"  And the door slammed shut.

In Hurricane Max's wake, a moan from the general direction of Mercedes's bedroom was heard.  Hangovers **sucked**.

_A week later_

_Local public high school_

_Seattle, Washington_

"So, what'd you get?"  Original Cindy, Max's best friend, was sitting to her right in their English class.  They were able to talk because the teacher was passing out the short stories they'd turned in just the day before.

"Haven't gotten it yet," Max muttered, watching the teacher anxiously.  Even though she'd stayed up to three in the morning handwriting the rough draft and had to rush before school to get it typed, she thought she'd done a really good job on it.  And here, the teacher was taking her own sweet time getting it back to her.

Waiting was most definitely **not** one of Max's strong points.

As it turned out, hers was on the bottom of the pile.  The teacher appeared above her, and when she gave it back, she didn't offer a comment, unlike she had done with the other students.  Feeling somewhat rejected, Max glanced dismally at her paper, intending to put it in her folder immediately.  Instead, the massive amounts of writing in red at the top of the page caught her eye.

Max, your story is completely implausible.  Even with our government in the slump that it is, it could still withstand an attack from the inside, even of that magnitude.  Your story is still 'A' material, but next time, please try to follow the guideline: a **true** story next assignment would be more conducive to your grade.

"Pfft."  Max showed the writing to Original Cindy, who simply raised her eyebrows because talking wasn't allowed once lecture began, and thrust the story into her bag by her feet.  She never liked this teacher anyway.

When she arrived at the penthouse, she marched directly into the computer room and shoved the bundle of papers and ink under her mother's surprised nose.

"Read.  Now.  Tell me it's good."  Her tone brooked no argument.

By the end of the story, her mother's face had gone white as a sheet, much to Max's confusion.  When she asked what was wrong, Mercedes's voice shocked her to the core.  It had the most frightened tone to it; one Max hadn't heard since they had almost been robbed and her mother had to face the would-be criminal out with her handgun.

"Honey...  Were you by chance listening into the conversation Sunday night between Kevin and me?"  Mercedes flicked her eyes between Max's, her voice breaking on every other syllable.  She'd never seen her mother this scared, and it prompted her to tell the truth, even though she really wanted to keep it a secret.

"...I have the entire place bugged.  I listened in to see if you guys weren't making out or something similar" - here Mercedes's face regained some of its color due to flushed cheeks - "but then I tuned it all out while I concentrated on the story.  Why?"  Now Max was worried.  _It was just a school project...!  What did I do wrong?!_

"I can't lie to you and you know it."  Mercedes took a deep breath before continuing.  She pointed at the mass of papers in her hand.  "This is actually happening.  I received wind of it about five days ago.  A gang down in west Seattle is looking for the person who keeps interrupting the TV signals from the scheduled programming, sending out music and dancing characters."  She intensified her search of her daughter's face, now turned slightly away, and saw the precise moment when it all hit home.

"Oh, my God."  Max's eyes glazed over when they met her mother's.  "They're after... me."

(1)  'Max no baka' is Japanese for 'Max is a stupid.'  It's used here, however, to mean 'Max you idiot.'  I figure Japanese has become a rather popular language among the "upper classes."  Funfun!  ^^

(2)  'Chibi Shinigamis wielding thermal scythes' means 'little gods of death handling poles with curved jets of laser energy in the form of scythes.'

(3)  'Nani?' is Japanese for 'What?'

(4)  'Coup [coo],' as defined by Webster's Dictionary, means 'a brilliant, sudden move that is usually highly successful.'

**Author's Note:**  Y'know what's crazy?  I at first thought that this thing was longer than any other chapter so far, but guess what?  Chapter two is the longest, coming in at 4,237 words.  This thing is only 4,059 words.  Totally crazy!  Hehe.  Anyway, this is chapter six.  Love it?  Hate it?  Just want to read it?  Go ahead!  I don't block people from viewin' my work.  ^.~v  Sorry for the delay, though – I've had this done since July 26th, and I just kinda…forgot about it once it was done, ehheh heh….  ^^;

Oh, hey, One last thing (disclaimer here, too):  This is kinda a silly chapter.  Kinda.  **The main male character in the club scene is from the _Harry Potter_ books**.  If you read the books and fic, you'll know that Blaize/Blaise (no one remembers) Zabini is the Slytherin character of whom no one knows the gender.  In this he's male, but that doesn't mean I own him.  He's very much the property of JKR.  Just as much, **the main female character in the club scene isn't mine, either**.  She belongs to Marvel Comics as the X-Man Rogue, a.k.a. Marie.  Just so ya know.  ^.~v  A more extensive disclaimer is at my personal archive for this fic: http://www.angelfire.com/wa/DesertRose/reverse/index.html  Click on "Disclaimer" and yer set.  ^^ Oh, and yes, the soundtrack that Max listens to is also most definitely /not/ mine.  You'll see why I say this after you read it.  *snicker*

Tschau!

Lanna 


	7. Break Time

__

This could be bad.

Zack wandered throughout Seattle after he and Logan parted ways. He was doing some thinking about the sudden predicament in which he found himself, and not a bit of it could be considered cheery.

__

He wasn't supposed to survive. He kicked at the nearest bum, and she scuttled out of the way as fast as possible._ He was the most devoted out of all of us; I could have_ sworn _that just getting out'd destroy him._ He broke into a light jog, trying to get these thoughts over and done with by just moving faster, even though he knew such a thing was impossible. Zack grimaced at his own memories of the years after the breakout. He sometimes still had nightmares… 

****

(Flashback) 

There were Others around him – across the street, standing next to him, in the building down the way. They were the ones that Lydecker had always warned them about – those that, if they knew, could kill him with their own stupidity. 

__

Like that'll ever happen. Zack looked around him with contempt, very aware of his military-esque appearance. His shorn hair, his dressing gown/hospital-style clothing, the barcode on the back of his neck – all served to make him hyper-sensitive to looks he'd garnered along the way. He'd gone a fair distance, as well; Gillette, Wyoming to New Orleans, Louisiana isn't just a short midday trip, even _with_ his enhancements. So, he decided to sit back and relax, content to watch the Others milling about him, gather information upon how exactly to act and dress, and wait for his hair to grow longer. 

It was just a matter of time. 

****

(End Flashback) 

Zack had mechanically finished the journey to his richly furbished flat and was opening the door when he heard noises from within. Chuckling quietly, he shut the door behind him and placed his keys upon the ledge near the entrance without care as to where they'd land. He ignored the sounds, however, and thought again of his memories. _I don't know why I get nightmares,_ came the general feeling running through his mind. He supposed that perhaps they were nightmares because they were of a time in his life when he wasn't completely in control. 

__

Mmm… Control… 

Speaking of control, he turned away abruptly from his path towards the kitchen for a bit of late dinner and headed down a different hallway. There was only one room connected to this passage, and the room had only one opening: the door itself. Opening said door, Zack entered. 

Compared to the other rooms of his personal set of living quarters, this room had absolutely no decoration. In fact, the only things in it made the place seem like a jail cell: a bed (single, of course, which seemed more like a cot); a sink; a mirror; a rather small, round metal bowl that could be used comfortably as a bathtub for a five-year-old; and a table with clothes set upon it. The clothes were all grey, the same exact shade of the room's interior. In short, it could have passed for a step back in time to Manticore's barracks. 

There was a person in the room already, although one had to look carefully because the clothes caused a camouflage effect. The skin colour wasn't healthy, either – it looked like the prisoner had recently lost a lot of blood, even though there wasn't a scratch on the body. The hair was matted to the scalp through sleep, lack of cleanliness, and the fact that a hairbrush hadn't been allowed into the room period. 

Eyes, always brown but previously luminous in their cast, set upon the figure intruding into the mood of respite, of the calm before the storm. Zack. 

Said intruder smiled viciously at his captive, betraying his hidden dislike. And in an uninformed person's point of view, Zack greeted the person in a rather cordial tone. 

"Hello Kelly. Hungry?" 

****

(Flashback) 

She'd almost found them all! In lieu of her commanding officer's disappearance, Kelly had taken command of the remaining members of the unit. This meant seeking them out from hiding. 

She'd discovered that most of them had remained in contact with at least one other member, and while that was dangerous as hell (as she'd informed them _countless_ times), she was grateful. It was a sign that they had the resilience to withstand the Outside, and it also helped her to find them. The only person with whom _everyone_ had lost contact was her brother and C.O., Logan. 

This wasn't the time for regrets however, she quickly reminded herself. The previous sibling she'd visited had given her the last whereabouts of Zack, the remaining one of their number to escape alive. 

Kelly'd never liked Zack though, not even during their time in Manticore and he was her only backup. She'd always feared that if she had her back turned for just shade too long he'd pounce and take her out. This was a completely unfounded paranoia, and she knew it. They were always heavily monitored during those exercises. It still didn't change her opinion, though. Zack was not to be trusted. 

She affirmed that the address on the slip of paper in her hand was the same as that on the mailbox in front of her. They matched all eight times she checked it. 

__

This is it, she thought. _Reawaken the dragon – smooth…_

Knocking on the door, Kelly waited a bit nervously for Zack to answer. Even though she didn't particularly enjoy her brother's company, she still felt the familiar rush of giddiness mixed with adrenaline that had coursed through her body right before she'd been reunited with each of her other siblings. She seemed about ready to burst with that said emotion when the door was opened. 

"Hello?" came the man's wary yet still curious voice.

Her breath caught. Like always he looked stunning – how he did back in Manticore she'd never know, but he managed it. His strongly-chiseled jaw, his occasionally hard-as-ice blue eyes, the dirty, dark-blonde hair that seemed to defy physics once it grew out… Her brother had certainly grown up in the seven and a half years that she hadn't seen him. 

__

I still don't like him, no matter how good-looking he turned out to be. 

Kelly cleared her throat. "Zack?" Her eyes peered into his. "Do you recognize me?" 

Now his eyes were the same ice blue she remembered as he examined her from head to toe in slight confusion. He blinked several times with realization, his eyes clearing and turning warm again. "…Kelly?" 

With a joyful squeal from his long-lost sister, Zack found said young woman in his arms, hugging him madly. He was still partially stunned at his good fortune when she finally let go. It even took him a moment to massage the feeling back into his upper arms. "Been working out much, sis?" he asked with a semi-rueful smirk. Her grip was almost unbreakable! 

***

"So how've you been, Zack?" Kelly asked before sipping her tea. She watched as he moved around the kitchen, making something – she didn't know what. "Pretty good." A cabinet door shut. "Been moving around a lot thought. Nearly got caught twice – those suckers can move fast!" He came out bearing a plate of food in one hand, his drink in the other. 

"Oh, I can attest to that." A dry chuckle escaped her lips as she recalled her own near misses since they escaped. 

"I'm sure." A small grin. "As second-in-command, you must be highly sought-after. Hungry?" He offered the plate of food, an un-telling gleam in his eyes. 

****

(End Flashback) 

__

I can't believe I fell for that!

Kelly didn't allow her anger to show on her face as Zack grinned foolishly in front of her. He was smart though; she had to grant him that. After all, the sleeping draught he used was undetectable until _after_ one ingested it. Be then of course it was too late, for the drug's effects were already starting to make themselves known. _Oldest fucking trick in the book: poison in food. Jesus, Kelly! How could you let your guard drop like that?!_

Zack, meanwhile, had grown tired of Kelly's characteristic silence sooner than usual - most probably because he met their C.O. and brother that day. "Talk to me!" he raged and, stepping further inside the room, he raised his hand against her. The blow forced her backwards, despite her best intentions to stay upright and thus prevent his smug glee. 

Still, she didn't talk. 

Zack was obviously having a bad day, and one thing he'd discovered about bad days is that they only get worse instead of better. Right then would have been a prime example. Therefore, since she was so convenient, he used her as a punching bag, always keeping within the edge of killing her. He never got much enjoyment out of this particular pastime, though, for the knowledge that she couldn't fight back – he had been drugging her since he captured her the first time - was kept on the backburner of his mind. 

In keeping with the tradition, by the time he left Kelly was a mass of bruises, curled up on the floor in a puddle of her own blood. Almost in a dazed sort of fascination she watched bits of her clothes darken with her life force. The thought came unbidden into her head: _How pretty._ The red provided the only contrast in her room to the grey of everything else. 

And then she knew no more as the seizures took over. 

++++ 

"Wait." Max stood back from her mother's chair in the computer room. "This can't be. They can't be after _me_." Slight laughter, as if to shake off that simply /ridiculous/ notion. "I mean, sure, I can and have done it, but… the theory seems so _improbable_!" She paced the room restlessly, gesturing with her hands to emphasize points in her speech. "I can see them wanting someone to hack into a television program, but _anime characters_? Honestly!" She shot her mother an incredulous look. "How old _are_ these people? **FIVE**?" She refused to admit that she was obsessed with anime, too.

Mercedes took a shuddering breath, still freaked by the situation but attempting to calm down enough in order to calm her daughter down. "Hon, I don't know what to tell you. The report made it to me – or, rather, to Kevin – last week. The only explanation is that the conversation you overheard wormed its way subconsciously to the portion of your brain that was creating the story." She shakily ran her hand through her hair and looked away to her computer screen. 

Max just gazed at her mother in amazement. She still didn't believe that this was happening – after all, her story was a work of _fiction_! Not being able to stand it any longer, she fled the room and raided the refrigerator. There was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that the whole mess would make a _lot_ more sense after a few coolers. 

She plopped onto the couch and flicked on the T.V. Remote in hand, she was determined to put the incident out of her mind – although she knew deep down that watching T.V. wouldn't help. _Screw it._ She didn't care. 

This was how Logan found the Guevera household an hour later when he decided to drop by to get a status report of his case. No one answered his knock, which he thought suspicious. He picked the locks and came in only because he heard the noise of the T.V. and the _click-clack_ of the keys in Mercedes's office. He knew better.

Cautiously he approached the couch from behind, seeing the top of Max's head poking about the back. "…Hello." 

No response, unless one would count the dull roar of the T.V. 

The conclusion was quickly drawn that something was wrong. Each time Logan had come over, Max had either been very snappish and angry with him, or she had ignored him like one ignores a wall. Puzzled, Logan thought this over and came up with a slightly helpful – and very logical, in his mind – solution. 

"Are you a clone?" 

Logan couldn't see it, but Max's face at that moment twisted into a grin, and she visibly fought off the impeding laughter. Once she had herself back under control, she choked out, "No, though I wish I had one." 

Thinking this weird, Logan decided that he'd try to further his education in being "normal" and impart his knowledge upon the unsuspecting – in this case, Max. 

"You could always go to Manticore."

"_What?_" Max whirled from her position on the couch so she was looking at him over the back of the couch, the remote clattering to the floor. "I'm sorry, but I thought I just heard you suggest I go to Manticore? As in, the place you were created, you know? Yeah, those evil people who torture little kids." Her sarcastically cheerful voice then turned cynical. "Are you _insane_?"

Logan mentally winced, scolding himself for his horrendous judgment. Some things, he was slowly discovering, you did not mention in polite company, even if the person in whose company you were wasn't very polite. Maybel, he guessed, hadn't taught him nearly as well as he'd originally assumed. "I apologize," he stated in his again-monotone voice. "I should have realized not to discuss the issue with you – "

"Hey!" Now she was indignant. "I never said you shouldn't mention Manticore-related information around me." She turned back to the T.V., leaving Logan to draw his own conclusions about the situation. This would have been a lovely idea if they'd been in the middle of a war and Logan was the last surviving commander of the army. For civilian purposes, however, it wasn't, and he was lost. Seeking his remaining option, he tentatively walked around the couch and sat on the other end, joining her in watching the television.

The silence between them reigned for a little while as they took in the reruns of the old Pre-Pulse sitcoms. After a bit, Max broke the quiet and spoke. "I have terrorists after me."

Logan didn't quite know how to respond to this, but he tried anyway. "Really."

"Yep." Her eyes glowed with the images of the screen. "Apparently they want me to hack a T.V. station and transmit anime images containing code." She watched Harry from 'Third Rock From the Sun' make a fool of himself for the millionth time with some sort of detached fascination. "This code will be watched by thousands of these terrorists, and they'll all assemble to receive orders detailing how to attack the government." She snorted scornfully. "Of course, the President has no hold over Congress anymore, let alone the people. I wouldn't be surprised if we were suddenly launched into a dictatorship overnight."

Logan took this in carefully, still silent. He was a little stunned by how badly the government had retrogressed from the standards of not even a quarter of a century ago, but it didn't truly affect him as much as he thought it might. 

"They going to kill you?"

"Yep."

"Figures." They lapsed back into silence, neither of them commenting as to how this camaraderie between them developed literally within seconds, for fear that it might dissipate just as quickly. Neither wanted to admit that they were happy with the sudden changes, or that they'd completely given up their animosity yet, either.

And Mercedes typed on. 

***

Security around Max was heightened, going from absolutely nothing to the enforced constant company of Logan whenever she went out. Max still couldn't figure out how her mother had persuaded Logan to keep an eye on her, but she thought it might have something to do with the payment of Mercedes's research into Logan's 'family.' Instead of cash, he got the probably more interesting yet increasingly frustrating 'privilege' of trailing Max. She knew he wasn't happy with the situation either, and took it upon herself to make it all the more difficult for him.

However, there was no way in any circle of hell that her mother was about to allow Max into Crash. Even though that part of her daughter's story was false, Mercedes still didn't feel as if it were safe. Max wasn't going to be denied the joys of her friends' company, so instead of her going out, they came in. Occasionally she decided that they would traipse around the city on foot, or they would all meet up on a run while at work, the one place that Logan couldn't accompany her for appearance's sake, and they'd skip out for a beer. 

Needless to say, she didn't put the fear of a painful death at the hands of her mother for not watching her in his heart.

Max sat on the floor in front of the couch watching TV and lifting weights. Some old soap opera was on, and while the acting, the plot, and pretty much everything contained within needed a massive overhaul, she wasn't picky. She decided to entertain herself with singling out all the inconsistencies. At least, that's what she told herself.

It was an off day, meaning that Logan wasn't around watching her every move. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, he had to work today. Ha. She loved her seniority over him; slight as it was, it gave her more time off from doing the grunt work. On these days, she tended to just sit at home and laze around. Sometimes she'd actually apply herself and do some studying for her additional college courses, but those days were few and far in-between. 

Today was a no study, no work, and no anything-that-Max-didn't-want-to-do day. So far, she'd succeeded. She'd gotten up at the delicious hour of eleven thirty; she had a quite unhealthy breakfast consisting of cold pizza her mom had made the night before; and she hadn't gotten out of her robe until three in the afternoon. She was still in the blissful state of timelessness. She hadn't checked a clock at all except when she'd gotten up. She only had the sky to go by, and that was perfectly fine by her. She was finally almost forgetting the "terrorists are out to get me!" thing. Her mom wasn't home yet from the market, either. To Max, nothing could go wrong.

The doorbell rang.

Max gave a short sigh and put her weights on the floor. It was a good thing that it was about time to take a break anyway, because otherwise she would have punched first and greeted later the person who'd dared to interrupt her day. Grabbing her towel and mopping a bit of sweat off, she got up and opened the door. It was no surprise that Logan was standing there. It looked as if he'd just gotten off work, too, because even though he had higher endurance than normal, his cheeks were still flushed. She could always tell.

"Hi." She raised an eyebrow curiously, dabbing with the towel at the back of her neck. "What do you want?" She turned around and let him close the door behind him, heading into the kitchen for a bottle of water.

"Just to check up on my case." He leaned against the doorframe that separated the kitchen from the living room, a small smile playing on his face. He'd had a good run right before he'd gotten off work. A little old lady had been sent pictures of a kitten from her granddaughter, and she had been determined to share them with the "nice delivery boy." Some days, he knew it was worth escaping Manticore. This had been one of them.

"Well, Mom's not back yet from the market, and since _certain people_ won't allow me to work on the case as well..." here she took a long swig from her water bottle and gave him a very pointed look. "I have nothing to tell you." A pause. "Well, nothing new, at any rate."

Logan shrugged and went into the living room, lifting a brow at the choice of program but not saying a word. Instead his attention focused upon the weights that Max had just been using. They were pretty standard, actually, but not nearly as heavy as he thought she'd have. For some reason, Logan had the assumption that she was into lifting heavily, but he mentally shrugged. He was going to rid himself of that habit if it killed him.

"Ugh." Max plopped onto the couch, sprawling out and leaving him practically no room at all if he wanted to sit – unless he _wanted_ to be punched. She took in another mouthful of water and looked up at him curiously. "So how was work? Normal being worse than usual?"

"No." He decided to perch on the armrest instead of braving the cushions. "He was actually a bit calmer. You know, there's a pool going as to whether or not it's because both you and Cindy were gone today." Only his programmed reflexes prevented his leg from receiving a bruise the size of Max's foot.

She glared up at him and turned back to the TV, suddenly deciding that the love lives of the characters were immensely more interesting than listening to him gabble on about things that she didn't care about.

Logan followed her attention to the melodramatic nonsense taking place through the radio waves of the television station. He held most all TV shows in contempt, simply because he knew too much of the world around him. Fiction, therefore, held no appeal for him.

"You actually watch this garbage?" His voice was a mixture of disgust and amazement. And here he'd thought she was sensible! He really needed to work on his assumption reflex.

Max glared at him for a second time. She was not about to let it be known that she liked this stuff, and that included observations. "No!" A huffy sigh. "Just because the channel just _happened_ to land on this does _not_ mean that I'm a fan! Geez! This is... utter crap! People who watch these things have.. no life whatsoever." A pointed look in his direction. "_I_, on the other hand, have a life. Therefore, I cannot, by pure logic, be interested in this... drivel." She immediately avoided eye contact with him by shifting her line of sight back to the TV. If she ignored him, she might just catch the ending words...

"Well," Logan interrupted once again with a wry tone, "I think that you like it, and that you don't have the guts to admit it." He was pushing her with those words, but it was the perfect opportunity, and he couldn't on good conscience let it pass – despite the warning bells sounding off in his head.

Max looked at him in outrage and perhaps a hint of astonishment. That anyone would dare say to her face that she didn't have the guys for something – what an atrocity! Her face twisted into the most potent glare yet and she stood from the couch in a huff. Instead of going directly to her room, as Logan had suspected, she went first to the kitchen. He heard the telltale sounds of the refrigerator being open and shut, and then watched her storm through the living room, down a hallway, and lastly into her room. The door slammed behind her seconds after Mercedes opened the door to the penthouse. Logan watched in amusement as his employee blinked a few times before she was able to form a coherent thought.

"What the hell?"

***

Kelly sat listlessly on her cot, staring at the wall opposite her and calculating the number of strokes the painter had to use in order to paint said surface. She got to upwards of a thousand before she stopped to think of the type of paintbrush, and how that would influence the stroke number. With a narrow brush, the painter would have to use many more strokes than with a wide roller. Without so much as a flicker of emotion on her face, she started counting once more.

That is to say, a portion of her brain started the counting again. The rest of her brain was devoted to escape tactics and had been ever since she'd been captured, although it didn't help matters that Zack had kept her drugged through her food and water ever since. He was humiliating her enough through the capture, but he just had to add not even making the drugs unnoticeable. The drugs muddled her brain and her responses to the point that anything she did or thought sounded ludicrous. It underscored the natural human tendency of going slightly less sane when cooped up for long periods of time. 

She knew this, because it was the only thought that helped keep her sane in some moments. She also knew without a doubt that there was only one way out of the room. She was pretty sure that this wasn't a well-used hallway, since there were footsteps down it only as Zack was coming or going. This lead her to believe that this was the only room connected to this particular hallway. That was only an assumption, though, and didn't carry any weight when figured into escape measures.

Unfortunately for her already troubled state of mind, Kelly's plans kept getting wilder and wilder. They had now devolved into where one of her siblings, armed with one of the old-style machine guns, would kick down the door and haul her out of there. On the way out, they'd see two others holding Zack between them. He'd be beaten within an inch of his life, and as she passed him she'd deliver the final blow even in her weakened state. Then they'd leave him in his apartment and go east to allow her to recuperate. Or maybe they'd go south; she'd always enjoyed California.

Nine hundred and seventy-eight strokes for the wall in front of her. That is, if they used a primer and only one coat. For two coats...


	8. Compromised Orders

Lanna, 

The following review has been submitted to: Reverse Chapter: 7 

From: Topaz() 

I was really sorry that you abandoned this fic. It was good and had so much potential. I wanted Max and Logan to meet, even tho you don't write romance. I would have done that in my head and my heart.

It was good while it lasted. I still look for it every day on ff.net. 

__

Topaz,

Thanks for your continued interest in my fic! You have no idea how much it means. And for your concern over this writing endeavor, this chapter is dedicated to you and only you. You are great!

Thank you once again,

Lanna

Chapter Eight

It had been a month since Kelly had counted the paint strokes and Max and Logan had gotten into another tiff. So far, Logan had found one more of his siblings other than Zack. Consequently, Mercedes had gotten a pay raise and Logan became more willing to keep watch over Max. Maybel still hadn't been introduced to the Gueveras, and the terrorists hadn't gotten any further with their plans to take over the United States.

Everything seemed fine in the world of Max. All was well: she was getting good grades (her English teacher had forgiven her momentary "lapse of judgment" in turning in the quite unrealistic paper), and she was having a blast with her friends. Her mother seemed to allow her more freedom in the wine-cooler aspect of things, and had even stopped trying to set her up with "nice boys" Merche had "just happened" to meet.

But - and there is always a "but" when things are going spectacularly – Max was getting bored. Things had calmed down to the point where life was starting to feel static. To counteract this, she had stepped up her hacking forays into the real world. This time, though, she wasn't nearly as obvious about it. She continuously tried different approaches to getting into Manticore's mainframe. One day she would be a hit from Singapore; the next, the Congo. Each and every time, she made sure she would be traced only from remote locations around the world, coming from where the hack would be considered harmless. Never was she located in Washington, and rarely was she ever based in the States.

These hacking adventures were getting to be the only things she looked forward to during the day. Neither her mother nor her watchdog, Logan, knew about what she was doing and, if they were at all suspicious about the sudden dark circles under her eyes, they never said a word.

Said dark circles made an appearance each and every morning before she applied her make-up, which would explain the normally very observant Logan never noticing them. As she stumbled out of her bedroom and into the kitchen one morning, however, she ran into a large obstacle.

"...the hell?" Max mumbled almost incoherently into the most definitely moving surface in front of her.

__

...Since when to walls breathe?

Her step hitching ever so slightly as she took a step backwards, she tilted her head and blearily tried to focus her eyes to figure out just into what she had run. Slowly but surely her vision cleared – with the help of many yawns and much blinking, of course. The image that appeared in front of her was no other than the smiling countenance of one Logan Cale.

"Aw fuck," Max grumbled. Returning her gaze to the floor and ignoring the confused frown that had made its way onto Logan's face, she deftly—well, as deftly as an incredibly sleep-deprived person can be—sidestepped him and headed into the kitchen. Finding that the coffee hadn't been started yet, she got out the coffee grinds and started up the maker. She seemed to completely forget that there was another person in the house as her head drifted downward to rest on her chest and her eyes closed.

Logan just raised an eyebrow, the smile back and ghosting his lips with its presence. He could have sworn he just heard a snore. He was about to go and stop the coffee maker since it was nearly finished, but he guessed that Max must have an internal clock or something because her head sprung up off her chest and her eyes opened as it was ready to signal being done. He nearly laughed at the sight, but decided that he rather liked his head where it was, thankyouverymuch. Instead, he cleared his throat once she'd gulped down half a cup of the substance and looked a bit more awake.

Max's head swiveled in his direction, and when her eyes lighted upon his person, she sighed heavily and muttered under her breath, "Damn. It wasn't just some hallucination." A bit louder, she continued, "What are you doing here so early?"

It was at this point that Logan noticed the circles under her eyes. He merely raised an eyebrow and answered her question with one of his own. "How much sleep have you gotten lately?"

Max rolled her eyes, refilled her mug, and headed into the living room in lieu of answering his question. She plopped down onto the couch—carefully avoiding any spillage of the precious caffeine-containing liquid, of course—and reached for the TV remote. Keeping her eyes glued onto the early morning news anchors, she hoped to avoid any unwanted conversation with Logan.

Ah, but at least wishing is free.

"You know, I have a feeling that you're going to get mononucleosis or another sleeping disease if you keep staying up late and drinking all of this caffeine." His voice took on a condescending tone, and Max couldn't hide rolling her eyes in his direction.

"Yes, _Mother_." She proceeded to then ignore him, focusing all of her attention on the TV as her brain registered the news anchor talking.

"—And in other news, a woman was found dead last night, floating in Puget Sound. She had been dead for several days when a local man reported seeing the body. Sector police for that area have not confirmed the identity of the woman, but we are told that she had reddish-brown hair with white streaks in the front. She was around five foot, two inches tall, and had green eyes. If you know anyone that matches this description, please report..."

Logan's gaze slowly returned to rest upon Max. He could do nothing but watch as the coffee mug fell forgotten from her fingers. 

There was a brief, stunned, frightened silence before Max became a product of adrenaline-induced energy. "Mom!" Her robe fluttered around her and her hair was flying out behind her as she dashed into her mother's room, Logan following but at a more sedate pace. Ignoring the alarm clock that proudly stated the hour as being seven forty-nine, she shook Mercedes mercilessly until she started showing signs of waking up.

"Mom!" Max hurriedly tucked her hair behind her ear before shaking her mother again. "Mom! Mom, come on, you gotta wake up now." She got a response of eyes trying up blink but failing because they were still closed. "Mom, seriously, this is urgent. The terrorists are getting closer."

Merche's eyes flew open at this and became immediately half-lidded. "What?" came her groggy but awake voice.

"They killed a woman and dumped her body in Puget Sound. Mom, they're closer! And you never told me that they'd already used someone!" Logan watched as Max's previous energy started to reshape itself into blind panic. "You didn't tell me that they'd already gotten someone to do their dirty work!"

Mercedes frowned at her daughter. "But, honey, if they've already done what they set out to do, then why would they still be after you?"

Max rocked back on her heels at this statement, blinking several times. Then, apparent to both of the other people in the room, the tension slowly drained out of the older teen. So much of the energy left her, in fact, that she started to slump forwards. It was only the near-lightning speed of Logan's reflexes that prevented her from falling flat onto her face.

Mercedes yawned and waved lazily to Logan. "Just put her in her room. She'll be out cold for the next few hours, I'm sure." There was another yawn, and she rolled over, pulling the blankets farther up so her entire body was covered. "Th'nks, Logan," came the muffled voice. And with that, Merche left a slightly stunned but still stoic Logan alone with Max passed out and standing only with the strength of his arm.

"Er." Logan blinked a few times before realizing that he was standing in his employer's room—his _female_ employer's room—with said woman's daughter unconscious and practically in his arms. He shook himself out of his stupor and treated Mercedes's command as it was: a command that was to be followed. Logan simply added "without feeling" on the end as he picked Max up and headed towards her bedroom. As soon as he opened the door, however, his jaw dropped in shock.

Max's room was a disaster area. Clothes were strewn carelessly around—_is that a _bra_ on the ceiling fan?_—and there were schoolbooks tossed to the floor by her desk with reckless abandon. On the sides of said computer desk were multitudes of used eating ware with congealing food on the majority of them. Wine cooler bottles were on the floor by the desk, and surprisingly some had made it into the trash bin by the door. He noticed that there was an old, rather large coffee mug—nearly licked clean, he noted—in the place of prominence in front of the computer screen, drawing his attention to the computer. It computer was still on, and with his excellent vision he saw that she was in the middle of writing an English report on...

"Manticore?" Logan's face contorted into one of surprise. "What the _fuck_?" 

Realizing that he still had Max in his arms—_is she trying to use me as a _blanket_?_—he stepped over the lumps on the floor and somehow made it to her bed without tripping and falling over. Gently, or at least as gently as he could, he laid her down on the unmade surface. He pulled the blankets from underneath her and tucked them around her so she would be warm, and then practically leaped over the bed in his hurry to get to the computer.

"Why is she messing around with Manticore?" he muttered under his breath, immediately grabbing the mouse and scrolling to the top of the Word document. "Doesn't she understand that she could be _killed_?" Soon, however, his thoughts were wrapped up entirely in Max's notes on his creation place, and he found himself drawn back into the past...

****

(Flashback)

"X5-254."

The X5 in question stepped out of the line of other assembled X5s. The expression on the boy's face was nonexistent, and he held his posture better than the most experienced and most disciplined soldier any of the world governments could train. His startling blue eyes were focused on a point in front of him while not focusing at all on the man that was stalking smugly up and down the line.

"You will take point on a scout mission northerly from this facility. You are to record any and all information on suspicious activity. Report back to me." The man stopped in front of the boy still standing at attention. "You will be watched at all times, but do not think that is supposed to happen." His eyes shifted to farther down the line and he resumed his walk. "Record _all_ suspicious activity." He stopped at the end of the line and turned so that he was at a ninety-degree angle from the rest of the soldiers in the room. "Dismissed." He watched as the boy led the other members in his unit out of the room, and a feral grin played along his lips. 

__

It will be fun to watch them fail.

The group of three ran calmly, determinedly, and silently through the pines that surrounded them. They were on the alert--so high on the alert, actually, that the ants on the pine bark were noted. But even super soldiers get tired and need to eat.

__

Logan, the smallest of the three signaled with her hands. _Food. Rest._ They had been out there for nearly a day without stopping, and while she didn't need to sleep, Kelly knew that the other members of her group were starting to show signs of fatigue, even if they were too prideful to mention it.

To the inexperienced eye, it seemed as if her suggestion was ignored. The team kept moving for another thirty minutes before Logan halted abruptly and raised his hand with the signal to stop. Immediately the three set to work on constructing a camp, which meant that they each propped up against a tree. His first command after the stop was to assign Kelly to guard duty, as she required very little rest. Once he was sure that the other member of their team was asleep, he shortly followed suit.

"Zack! What the hell is your problem?" Logan yelled at his brother--and his subordinate. "Why can't you just leave her alone? She's your _sister_!"

For months now, Zack had been harassing Kelly. It had started out innocently enough; he would be a little more vicious than he needed to be during training, or he'd short sheet her bed. But lately, it had gotten out of hand. He would attack her in the hallways, away from the others that might be able to stop him. His beatings would often leave her incapacitated and unable to train with the others. Finally, she'd gotten up enough courage to come to Logan, her C.O., and have him deal with the problem.

Zack sneered at the slightly taller child. In a fight, Zack bet that he could beat his brother with one hand behind his back. Logan had gotten soft, Zack thought; the leadership could be his if he beat his brother. However, instead of challenging him outright, with the rest of the X5s standing behind Logan, he turned his sneer into a smile.

"I don't have a problem, big brother." _Logan's a nut for family ties_, he thought to himself._ Remember that._ "What makes you think I do?"

Logan deftly ignored the brother comment and kept his anger running high. "Kelly has come to me with a complaint. You've been hitting your little sister, Zack?" He raised a challenging eyebrow.

__

So. He wants to fight. Zack's hands clenched slightly before he answered. "We all hit each other, brother-dear. It's called training." _Play the crowd; get them to side with you._

A line of white appeared around Logan's tightening lips. He knew what Zack was doing. "I'm not talking about training and you know it. I'm talking about after dinner, on the way back to the barracks." He turned to face the others standing in the room with him. "You've all seen the bruises on X5-648?" His question was met with nods. "You've all noticed the lack of her at practice?" More nods. "She came to me tonight, telling me that -- " There was a yell from behind him, and before he had time to react he was tackled to the ground...

****

(End Flashback)

"Zack!" he yelled, growling at the same time. He shot straight up in bed, every nerve ready to attack the next thing that moved. Slowly, however, he realized that he _was_ in a bed, when he had originally been sitting at the computer, which... was on his left? And he was tucked in? His shoes were off, and there was a needle in his arm..?

"What the _hell_?"

There was a little whimper of sound coming from behind him on his right. He whipped his body around, only to see Max standing there holding a glass of water and as wide-eyed as a kitten.

"Good afternoon?" she squeaked.


	9. Resumption of Activity

04-03-05:  
Ohmigosh, it's finally fucking here! Chapter Nine, ladies and gents, for your viewing pleasure! A formal apology has been issued to all you loyal fans here: http: I love you all, and thanks so much for sticking with me through the last almost two years. :D You all roxor.

Loves!

* * *

"Zack!" he yelled, growling at the same time. He shot straight up in bed, every nerve ready to attack the next thing that moved. Slowly, however, he realized that he _was_ in a bed, when he had originally been sitting at the computer, which... was on his left? And he was tucked in? His shoes were off, and there was a needle in his arm..?

"What the _hell_?"

There was a little whimper of sound coming from behind him on his right. He whipped his body around, only to see Max standing there holding a glass of water and as wide-eyed as a kitten.

"Good afternoon?" she squeaked.

Logan blinked, releasing the unknown pent-up breath of air he had held in his lungs. His confused gaze turned from Max in the doorway to the top of the blanket. The fact that it was green and silver, just like the rest of the room, dimly registered in the back of his mind as he rather clumsily tried to push the covers off of him to get out of the bed. At this point, Max realized what he was doing and overcame her shock enough to quickly step over to the bed.

"You uh, may not want to do that," she cautioned timidly, gently trying to make him lay back down in the bed with one hand. She was still holding the glass of water in the other.

He jumped at not only the proximity of her voice – _why didn't I hear her approach?_ – but also the touch of her hand on his arm. His head turned around towards her swiftly. His movements, having been so precise and accurate moments before, degenerated once he realized that she wasn't about to hurt him. Surprisingly, their faces were closer than he had originally assumed, and he blinked up at her, as if by the sheer number of times he blinked he would be closer to understanding what the hell was going on.

Max swallowed awkwardly, immediately recognizing how this position could look to her mother if she just happened to walk in. She took a half-step back, putting distance between them. "I—I'm sure that you noticed the IV." He nodded. "Well, I bet that you've been taught what to do when you're hooked up to one, right?" She watched his eyes but didn't think the fact they were glazing over was important. She continued on. "We've got tryptophan dripping into your veins…"

Logan blinked and pushed memories of a similar occurrence out of his mind, comprehension dawning in his mind. Locking his gaze with hers, he calmly reached over to the IV and plucked it out of his arm like he would with a splinter. Her eyes widened a touch with alarm at his actions while she watched him push the covers back and stand up, walking towards the door. He looked as if he'd only just rested and not had a seizure, Max thought. _On my bed. _My_ bed, not – _

"Wait a second..! Wait!" She spun around to her door in time to see him round the hallway and heading into the living room. She gave an exasperated sigh and followed him. The closer she got, the more voices she heard. Her step hitched as she momentarily speculated about Logan's reaction to their guest, but she continued onward.

Logan awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, looking back and forth between Maybel and Mercedes, confused. He didn't understand why Maybel was there, but, as he stopped to think about it, it made perfect sense. There was no way he could expect Merche to keep out of his own background after the escape from the hospital. That would be a sign of a lack of thorough research, and how, then, would he be able to trust that she had done everything to locate his siblings? The noise Max made when entering the room went largely ignored as he focused upon Maybel.

"Why are you here?" Logan asked, interrupting the almost cheery conversation between the two women.

Maybel looked affronted, as if he had no right to ask her such a question, especially whilst she was speaking with someone else. "Merche here called me in a panic and told me what had happened. I simply dashed over with the tryptophan and they took it from there. And honestly, Logan," she scolded. "Must you be so rude? I _am_ having a conversation." She was in what she called her aristocratic mood, Logan noted, and while in such, nothing but proper manners was to be used around her. There was no way to speak with her otherwise.

He tossed his hands upwards in a rare gesture of a human emotion other than contempt, amusement, and anger. He didn't have time for this. _Why was I in Ma – that room anyway?_ It took him perhaps a bit longer than normal to remember, since he'd been in a coma and everything for the past – he looked at the clock; five hours – but when he remembered he was furious. Turning to face the hallway he had just exited, his eyes landed on the small figure still holding the glass of water, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe.

"Oh, Max, may I have a word with you? In the kitchen?" His voice was syrupy sweetness, construed by the two older women on the couch as perhaps the evidence of a budding relationship between the two young adults, and they immediately began murmuring to each other excitedly. To the person in question, though, the voice meant everything other than what was implied on the surface. The water in the glass reflected her movement as she moved towards the kitchen despite her latent fear.

Once positioned in front of the only exit out of Merche's sacred room, Logan's eyes flashed a glare in Max's direction. He decided to ignore niceties and get straight to the point.

"What the fuck were you doing with information on Manticore on your fucking _computer_ where the whole damned world could get to it?" He kept his voice low, not wanting to chance the others overhearing what was going on.

Max shot him an endearing smile and held out the glass of water. "I thought you might be thirsty, so I got you some water." Her voice was bright and cheery. "It's a bit warm now, but ice will – "

Logan glowered at her, stepping close enough to yank the glass out of her unsuspecting hand and slam it down, the water sloshing over the rim and onto the counter. Inches away from her, his eyes penetrating, he hissed, "Don't play games with Manticore, you unthinking bitch." Max's eyes went wide at this; who was this guy in front of her and what had he done with the Logan Cale she knew? She tried to sink farther back, but only succeeded in bending back above the metal sink.

Logan continued along in the same vein. "You have no idea what you're getting into, Max. You may think it merely a test, to see if you can get in, but allow me to assure you, it is nothing of the kind. Manticore…" His voice trailed off and his eyes unfocused for a moment, allowing his prisoner a brief hope that this odd interrogation would end sooner than she thought, and with less violence. But just as she thought to slip beyond him and make her escape, his eyes caught hers, and they were filled with just as much intensity as before. "If you mess around with Manticore, you will die. I won't be around to save your sorry ass from their… their _machines_." He spat the last word in disgust. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words just wouldn't form. This allowed for a few moments to pass before he pushed away from her and left the room, and the penthouse, if the sound of the door slamming was any sort of indication.

Max stood motionless in the kitchen, shocked to her core at what had just passed. The two other women came into the room, looking puzzled. Slowly a look of utter amazement mixed with a pinch of fury appeared on her face.

"He called me a bitch! Nobody _ever_ calls me a bitch." Her eyes narrowed. "At least, no one does so and gets away with it. She stalked out, grabbing her coat on the way.

Maybel turned to Mercedes and commented pleasantly, "Well! That went quite well, now didn't it?"

Merche made a face and stared at the door leading out. Somehow, that's not quite what she thought.


End file.
